Chapter 4

I took the stiff paper folder to see the attorney before the flower shop opened.

Her name was Helen Moore. My mother had asked her to organize her estate papers years ago.

There was more gray in Helen’s hair than I remembered, but after reading the file, she did not promise that Nolan would pay for what he had done.

She simply slid the page with the forged signature back across her desk.

“This consultation alone can’t sell the house,” she said. “But he’s laying the groundwork. The survey, the listing copy, the viewing appointment—each step is meant to pressure you into giving your final consent.”

“What happens if I don’t?”

“He may keep trying to persuade you. He may frame it as a joint decision between spouses.” Helen paused. “Today, I’ll notify the real estate company that Wren House belongs solely to you. Any discussion about selling it must go through you. Once they receive that notice, they can’t treat your silence as approval.”

At least.

The words gave me no comfort. They meant Nolan could not list the house for now. They did not mean he would stop trying to wear me down.

As long as he lived under the same roof, and as long as Claire believed she would move in, he would keep looking for ways to force me back into the role of the understanding wife.

Helen asked me to leave the original deed and my mother’s property documents with her for safekeeping.

She warned me that proving the signature was forged would take time. Nolan would have the chance to deny it, delay it, explain it away.

“Don’t tell him what you found yet,” she said. “Right now, you don’t need a confrontation. You need him to keep believing you’ll protect his dignity.”

I sat in my car for ten minutes before I started the engine.

For years, I had translated Nolan’s failures into temporary versions of the man I had married.

When my mother first began losing her sight, he learned the delivery route so I could stay with her in the afternoons. He labeled her medication in letters large enough for her to read. On the nights she became frightened and forgot which room she was in, he sat outside her door with me until she fell asleep.

That history was why every later absence had needed an explanation. He was busy, so he forgot our anniversary. He was stressed, so he spoke sharply. He had once shown up when I needed him, so I kept believing the man who disappeared would eventually come back.

I had mistaken what he used to do for a promise he was still keeping.

It turned out he had been waiting for me to translate my own home into something I could give away.

When I returned to Wren House, I emptied the sideboard. The eight remaining blue wren napkins, my mother’s china, the spare key to the flower shop, and my passport all went into two cardboard boxes.

Nolan’s clothes and our photographs stayed where they were. I moved only what belonged to me, placing it somewhere he could no longer reach.

That evening, Nolan texted me.

Come home early. We need to talk.

Then a message appeared from an unfamiliar number.

This is Claire. Nolan said you know. Mia’s birthday is tomorrow, and she’s excited to come to the flower shop to pick out flowers. I hope you won’t disappoint her.

I stared at the screen until the words sharpened.

Claire was not reaching out to explain.

She believed she had the right to bring her daughter into the flower shop my mother had left me.