I cast a glance at the stack of paper on the side of the desk. Found a small scrap already used on one side for a practice signature. Flipped it over to the blank side.
With hands that still trembled slightly, I carefully copied the exact wording of the clause. Every letter. Every flourish. I even imitated the cramped way it had been squeezed between larger, more official‑looking sections.
By the time I finished, sweat had beaded at the back of my neck, the scratch of the quill loud in my own ears.
I folded the scrap and slipped it into the bodice of my dress with my old copy.
Then I rolled the original contract back up, tied the black ribbon around it just as tightly as before, and returned it to the drawer.
The keys went back on their hook.
I closed the drawer, turned the lock, and
