ANNA'S POV
The tears dried eventually. They always did.
The bread and cheese sat untouched on the nightstand. The afternoon light had moved while I wasn't watching it — longer now, colder. Through the cracked window the wind came thin and whistling.
I stood.
The desk drawer opened with a soft creak.
The divorce papers were still inside. He'd handed them to me weeks back, and I'd signed nothing. Kept them instead — something to hold over him, a thread to pull when I needed it.
I took them out. My hands were steady.
I read it through one last time. Dissolution of marriage. No claim to property. Mutual separation.
Mutual.
There was nothing mutual about any of it.
I picked up the pen and let my hand sit over the line. Then I signed.
Anna Bennett.
I didn't feel free.
The pen clatte
