I told myself she would come back soon. She always did. She was dramatic sometimes. Emotional. She wanted me to chase her, panic a little.
Fine. It worked.
By the third morning, I was sitting outside the operating wing, elbows on my knees, fingers tapping without rhythm. I did not even notice I was doing it until someone stopped in front of me.
A man in a suit. Calm. Professional. Dangerous in a quiet way.
“Mr. Vanderbilt,” he said. “I’m Mrs Vanderbilt’s lawyer.”
I looked up slowly.
He handed me a folder. “These are the divorce papers she prepared. Everything is ready. She just needs your signature.”
My eyes dropped to the folder.
Divorce?
