“The court will decide what comes next,” I said.

He stared at me with his mouth hanging slightly open.

He let his hand drop to his side.

The paper got soaked in the rain, the ink running on the page.

I turned my back on him.

I walked back toward the sliding glass doors without looking back.

I sat on the wooden step outside our new apartment building, sipping warm tea from a ceramic mug.

The four o’clock sun sat low over the narrow front yard, throwing long shadows across the concrete.