The third held the court-ordered medical custody agreement.

My phone buzzed against the laminate counter, rattling on the fake wood grain.

Claire’s name showed in white letters on the bright screen.

I picked up and put her on speaker so I could pour my morning coffee.

“The judge signed off on the final asset division an hour ago,” Claire said.

Her voice was crisp, cutting cleanly through the faint static of the speaker.

“Is the house transfer all done?” I asked.