I looked at the signature line on the last page.

My name was printed neatly underneath it.

I collected the papers.

I tapped the edges on the tabletop until they were perfectly square.

I slipped the injunction drafts carefully into my faded blue folder and let out a deep breath of relief.

I walked out of room 114 at zero nine hundred sharp on Tuesday morning, gripping my motel key in my fist.

Glenn was waiting in the parking lot, leaning against the driver’s door of my sedan.