I squared my shoulders, the dutiful wife shedding like dead skin. “We’re getting a divorce.”

The word froze all three of them.

Khloe’s eyes gave her away — a flicker of triumph before she remembered to look down and play the weeping willow.

Diane scoffed. “Good riddance. A dry husk taking up space in my son’s home. We’ll be glad to help you pack.”

“Sarah, stop using the D-word as a tantrum,” Michael said, patronizing.

“I’m not throwing a tantrum,” I said, hard as diamond. “My lawyer will call you tomorrow. And for the record: the condo is in both our names, and so is the car.