Inside the envelope were three things: a copy of my divorce filing, a formal notice from my attorney requiring preservation of our financial records, and photographs I had taken outside that chapel. Grant stared at the pictures longest. Brianna stopped pretending she didn’t understand. My mother immediately began saying it had only been a “symbolic ceremony,” as though secretly celebrating my husband committing himself to my sister somehow made it harmless.
The slightly open door had nothing dramatic behind it. A locksmith was finishing his work while my attorney’s assistant inventoried the belongings Grant had left in the house. The property had been mine before our marriage, and after speaking with counsel, I had followed the proper process for securing it while arranging for Grant to collect his things. His clothes and personal items were boxed, labeled, and waiting for an agreed pickup.
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