Thea read the folder twice in one night, then came to the address printed on the back.
The lawyer's office sat high above the bank, with glass on three sides and a city going gray below.
Hugh stood when she entered, and his handshake was dry and quick.
Hugh: Mr. Shaw is running ten minutes late. He asked me to start without him.
He said it as if lateness were a service he provided.
The draft waited on the table. Twelve pages, every clause numbered.
She read the numbers first. Care fees, reviewed each year, paid from the trust.
Then the smaller lines. Her signature, her silence, her new address.
Warren came in without knocking, coat already off, and sat down across from her.
Warren: You read it.
Thea: Twice.
He set his phone face down, and the small click of it sounded final.
Warren: Then you know what it says.
Thea: The care fees go straight to the home. Not through me. Not through you.
Hugh's pen stopped above the page.
Thea: If I sign and you change your mind, my mother is the one who pays.
Warren: Direct payment. Put it in, Hugh.
Thea: I keep my job. The vault, the records, my own desk.
Warren: The Shaws will not like a wife with a salary.
Thea: Then they can dislike it.
Warren looked at her for a moment longer than the sentence needed.
Warren: Keep it. You leave when I say, and you don't discuss this at work.
Warren: If a client sees my wife filing their papers, that is a scandal I don't pay for.
Thea: I wasn't planning to discuss it.
Thea: Separate rooms.
She said it plainly, and her hands stayed flat on the table.
Hugh: Separate sleeping arrangements, or separate rooms entirely?
Thea: Entirely. A door I can close.
Warren: Agreed.
He said it without heat, as if she had asked for a different shade of paint.
He turned the draft to the last page and slid it back across the table.
Warren: Now my terms.
Warren: No love. Not expected, not offered, not faked in private.
Warren: If you ever want that from me, say so, and I'll tell you the truth again.
Warren: And don't cry about it later. I won't sit through fucking tears for a deal you signed with your eyes open.
Thea felt the words land, and she refused to flinch.
Thea: I signed nothing yet.
Warren: You will.
Hugh printed the new draft, and the three of them read it in silence.
Thea counted her terms. Her mother. Her work. Her door.
Each one a small wall, and every wall built inside his house.