Marcus’s mouth opened and closed without sound.

“Every time I helped her in the night,” I said quietly, “she was holding that mitten, crying about what her little boy had turned into.”

I stood, crossed the room, and dropped the divorce petition on the carpet in front of his face — the one he’d mocked the day before. I tossed a pen down beside it.

“You’re done being in my life,” I said. “Sign it.”

His hand shook so badly he could barely hold the pen. He scrawled something illegible on the last line.

“Elena, please,” he rasped, looking up with hollow eyes. “Chloe blocked my number. The company is suing me. I have nothing. Forgive me.”