At home, I packed only two suitcases. Her assistants inventoried our rooms while I stood beside Daniel’s empty chair. One of them asked whether I wanted to keep the framed marriage certificate. Eleanor answered for me.
“Trash it.”
I said nothing, but photographed every box, every seal, and every page her men removed.
When Marcus asked why, I replied, “Because greedy people become careless when silence looks like weakness.”
And careless people leave fingerprints on their victories.
At the probate hearing, Eleanor entered in black silk with cameras waiting outside. She smiled as if the courthouse were a ballroom built for her victory.
“You look tired,” she said. “Sign quickly. Public humiliation can be exhausting.”
Marcus stiffened, but I touched his sleeve.
One by one, I signed the waivers. The mansion. The shares. The trust claims. Eleanor watched my pen move, satisfaction brightening her face.
“You never belonged here,” she murmured.
I closed the final folder and met her eyes. “You’re right. I don’t belong where you’re going.”