“You’re divorced.”

Wyatt walked out without bothering to hold the door.

The glass swung back and forth twice before it finally came to rest.

I folded my copy of the decree and slipped it into my briefcase, next to the brass clasp that had cost forty-five dollars to fix.

At five o’clock I pulled into the New Canaan driveway for the last time.

Madeline stood by the garage, overseeing two movers who were loading a marble bench into a van.