SIGNED AWAY
I sat at the small table in my studio apartment, staring at the envelope from my lawyer. The divorce papers were ready. Clean, final, no demands beyond what the original contract allowed. I had agonized over this for days, but the time had come.
I picked up the phone and called my lawyer.
“Please send them to Adrian’s office today,” I said. “No return address. No personal note. Just the documents.”
“Understood, Evelyn. I’ll handle it discreetly.”
I hung up and leaned back, exhaling slowly. I wasn’t angry anymore. Just tired. Tired of waiting, tired of hoping, tired of being invisible in my own marriage. Signing these papers felt like the final step toward the life I was trying to build at Silverline.
At Harrison Group, Adrian’s assistant knocked on his door mid-afternoon.
