Chapter 2

I started packing my things.

Skincare, documents, laptop, design drafts, and a few of my go-to outfits.

There was a file bag on the top shelf of the walk-in closet. I reached up to grab it, and a stack of papers tumbled down next to it.

I bent down to pick them up, and when I saw the top page, I froze.

It was a power of attorney.

My name was written in the section for the grantor.

The signature underneath was almost identical to mine.

If I wasn't so familiar with my own handwriting, I might've actually believed I'd signed it myself.

I stood there, my mind totally blank for a moment.

Turned out, the Hughes family didn't actually need my signature at all at the Housing Authority.

They already had a fake one ready to go.

The only reason they dragged me down there was because something got stuck, or the staff insisted I show up in person.

I flipped the power of attorney over, and found a notary appointment slip hidden behind it.

The appointment was set for tomorrow.

My stomach dropped.

Turned out, while I was in the dark, they'd already lined up their backup plan.

My phone buzzed again.

This time, it was Andrew.

I stared at the screen for a couple seconds, then answered.

"Where did you go?" Andrew said. There was not a word of explanation or apology. He was demanding answers.

"I'm at home," I said.

"Get ready and come over to Mom's for dinner tonight."

I let out a furious laugh. "Dinner? After all that?"

"Emily's freaking out right now. Just say sorry and let's move on."

"I'm supposed to apologize?"

"Grace, you really overreacted today. It's not like we're throwing you out or anything. Did you really have to blow things up like this?"

I gripped the forged power of attorney, my voice surprisingly calm.

"Andrew, let me ask you. Did you guys fake this signature?" I said.

There was a brief silence on the other end.

That pause was enough.

"Who told you to go through my stuff?" Andrew's tone went cold.

"So it's true," I said.

"That's just in case."

"In case of what? In case I wouldn't let you guys sell me out and still smile and thank you?"

He didn't say a word.

Suddenly, I didn't feel like arguing anymore.

"Andrew," I said, "let's divorce."

Andrew was rattled.

"Stop threatening divorce every time you get mad," he snapped.

"I'm not threatening you, I'm letting you know," I replied.

"You're upset right now. Let's talk about this later."

"There's nothing left to talk about."

Andrew's voice turned cold. "If you really want to move out, it's up to you. Stop using divorce as a threat."

Up to you.

I hung up.

This time, I didn't cry.

I snapped a photo of the forged power of attorney for my records, then stuffed every document related to the house into a file bag.

Before I left, I looked at the dining table.

The anniversary card I'd written in advance was still lying there.

There was one line on it.

It read: [I hope this year you'll finally learn to stand by me.]

Looking at it now, it felt almost laughable.

I ripped the card up and threw it in the trash.