I signed the divorce papers at exactly 10:17 on a gray, rain-soaked Tuesday morning, using a black pen that belonged to my husband’s lawyer.

My hand stayed perfectly steady. That seemed to unsettle everyone in the room, especially my husband, Nolan Pierce, who kept watching me like he expected me to break down crying. Maybe he wanted that. Maybe he needed proof that leaving me for a younger woman had destroyed me.

I handed the pen back and rose from my chair.

“So that’s it?” I asked.

His attorney nodded. “Once the judge approves everything, the settlement becomes official. Mrs. Pierce keeps the Maple Ridge property,