He crossed to the bedside, his shoes clicking on the linoleum, pulled a thick stapled stack from the folio, and dropped it on the rolling tray beside my water cup.

“Sign them,” he said, clipped and businesslike, empty of any warmth.

“Vanessa and I are done hiding. The charade is over, Evelyn. I want the colonial house, I want the primary liquid assets, and I want this done quietly before the DoD contract goes public next week.

Don’t make it messy.”

I stared at the divorce papers, my hands resting over my empty, aching stomach.

Something shifted in me. The grieving wife who’d spent years trying to fix a broken, narcissistic man simply evaporated. In her place, the officer woke up.