Eleanor
I was typing furiously, my fingers flying across the keyboard with more frustration than finesse as I retyped a draft document Nathan had marked up and sent back for revision.
Since the situation with Della, I have tried my best to avoid him at home and done everything at work to avoid a confrontation. I would think he would look for little reasons to make me mad or rattle me, but things had been the same aside from just not really talking to each other.
The letterhead I was typing on was already formatted, the tone polite but stern… the kind of legal language that said, “Do as we say or prepare for war,” without being uncivil. It was supposed to go to one of the bigger law firms downtown, and it had to be perfect.
Of course, I could barely focus.
The moment from that morni
