Chapter 2

Jason had given me until noon to sign away our house.

At nine that morning, I placed his divorce agreement on a family lawyer’s desk.

Natalie Brooks was a family-law attorney and the mother of a little girl who attended story hour at my library. She charged normal fees, but when I explained my situation, she agreed to let me pay in installments.

She read the agreement twice.

“Jason keeps the house,” she said. “He also takes the mortgage and every debt secured against it. You both give up alimony, and neither of you can claim income or property the other person receives after the divorce. You leave with no cash and no claim to the house.”

“That’s what he told me.”

“He didn’t tell you that you may be entitled to part of the house.”

I looked at the signature line waiting for my name.

“How much is the house actually worth after the mortgage?”

“That’s what we need to find out.”

Natalie called Jason with me sitting beside her.

She asked for the current mortgage balance, a recent property valuation, two years of loan records and confirmation that there was no second mortgage.

Jason immediately became angry.

“Emma never paid the mortgage,” he said through the speakerphone. “The house is none of her business.”

“She contributed to the marriage,” Natalie replied. “If you want her to surrender any claim, she has the right to know what she is surrendering.”

“She can sign today, or I’ll make sure she spends the next year paying lawyers for a house she’ll never get.”

The call ended.

I stared at Natalie’s phone.

Jason claimed the house was valuable, but he would not tell us how much he still owed. If there were real money in it, he would not need my signature before noon.

“What happens if I fight for it?” I asked.

“We request the records, obtain a valuation and negotiate your share. It could take time.”

“And if the house has more debt than value?”

“Then you may spend months fighting for nothing.”

Natalie leaned forward.

“You can ask for more, Emma. I don’t want you to sign because he frightened you.”

I thought about my clothes in garbage bags. Vanessa wearing my robe. Jason standing beside two suitcases as if ten years of marriage could be packed before dinner.

I had a job. I could rent a small apartment. What I did not want was another year of Jason deciding when I received information and how much peace would cost me.

“I’m not giving them my home,” I said. “I’m refusing to keep paying for a place that no longer belongs to me.”

Then I told Natalie what I wanted changed.

If Jason kept the house, he kept every debt connected to it—even debts he had not disclosed. Neither of us could claim property or income the other received after the divorce. He also had to return my mother’s dining table, Christmas decorations, photographs and books.

Natalie wrote the changes.

“Once you sign, you won’t benefit if that house becomes more valuable.”

“I understand.”

“And he won’t benefit from anything you receive afterward.”

“That’s what I want.”

Jason accepted the new terms within twenty minutes.

At eleven thirty, he arrived at Natalie’s office with Vanessa. She sat in the waiting room scrolling through photographs of nursery furniture.

Jason barely read the revised agreement.

“You’re sure about this?” Natalie asked him.

“I keep the house and Emma can’t come back for it?”

“Yes. You also accept every debt attached to the property.”

“Fine.”

He signed.

Before I signed, Natalie asked me the same question.

I looked at Jason. He seemed pleased with himself.

Then I wrote my name.

The completed agreement was filed, and our divorce became final.

Jason slipped his pen into his pocket.

“Sarah won’t let you sleep in her guest room forever,” he said. “Don’t come back when she gets tired of supporting you.”

“You wrote the agreement,” I replied. “After today, neither of us gets to come back for what belongs to the other.”

Vanessa smiled as Jason walked away with her.

I left the office divorced, homeless and uncertain where I would live after Sarah needed her guest room back.

But Jason could no longer use our house to control me.

My phone rang as I reached the sidewalk.

The number was unfamiliar.

“May I speak with Emma Carter?” a woman asked.

“This is Emma.”

“I’m calling on behalf of the Christmas Dream Home raffle. We need to verify the number on your ticket.”

I stopped walking.