The front door clicked behind me like the last bead on a broken string. The house still smelled faintly of smoke from the clothes I hadn't had time to wash, lemon cleaner from whatever the staff had scrubbed today, and something expensive and cold that never quite belonged to me.
Harrison stood in the living room with his jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms, as if he planned to negotiate with the furniture. He lifted his head when he heard me, relief flashing and dying in the same second. “Where were you?" he asked. “I called."
I walked past him without answering and set my parents' spare keys on the console table. The metal made a small, steady sound. “I came to get my documents," I said. “I'm filing for divorce."
The word hung between us like a drawn blade. For five years I had
