I didn't go home. I slept on the hotel bathroom floor with my cheek on the cold tile.
In the morning I washed my face, put the same navy dress back on, and went to his office.
His assistant walked me down the hall at eight sharp.
She didn't say one word to me. In six years, she never had.
We passed my office first. My name used to be on that door.
Now it said Sloane, in gold, like it had always belonged there.
Sloane: Oh, the wife. Come in, come in.
Sloane: Grant said you'd be quick. Wives usually are.
She laughed at her own joke. Somebody behind me laughed with her.
My ears went hot. That was the whole room, watching me be nothing.
Grant walked in and set a folder in front of me. No good morning. No looking at my face.
Grant: Terms. Read it or don't. It's all the same to me.
I read it. My hands were steady, which scared me more than shaking would have.
Grant: Sloane already has your office. That's done, don't fight it. She's brand director now.
Lena: That office was mine. My father's shares paid for this floor.
Grant: Nothing in this building is yours, Lena. Your name is on the shares. My name is on everything else.
Grant: Your mother's debts are mine. All of them. The house, the cards, that little loan she cried about in March.
He was close enough that I could smell his cologne, and my stupid body still liked it.
Six years of training. That's what I had instead of a marriage.
Sloane: Just sign it, honey. We can share him. I don't mind sloppy seconds.
I thought about putting the pen through her eye. I signed instead.
My name. Six letters. Ten seconds. It cost me ten years.
I stopped writing and he took my arm above the elbow.
Not hard enough to break anything. Hard enough to leave fingerprints.
Grant: Sign it, you ungrateful bitch. Don't make a scene in my building.
Grant: Your mother is sixty. She will not be ringing up groceries at that age. Not while I'm paying.
Grant: Sign by noon, or I call it all in on Monday and you can go explain it to her.
I believed him. That was the worst part. I knew he'd do it and enjoy doing it.
I looked at the marks on my arm and something in me went quiet.
Not sad. Done.
I signed it. Then I left my hand flat on the page so he couldn't take it away.
Lena: One more line.
Grant: There is no more line.
Lena: A boyfriend. Same rules as yours.
Lena: Mine, out in the open, where everyone can see. Or I tear this up right now and call your board.
Sloane stopped smiling. First good thing I'd felt in months.
Grant: You? He looked me over like a bad cut of meat.
Grant: Sure, Lena. Find one who'll have you.
Sloane: I'd pay to see that.
I took my copy and walked out past my old office.
I wasn't his wife anymore. I was a line item, and he'd just gotten the number he wanted.
The marks were turning colors already. They'd last about a week.
I told him I'd get a boyfriend. Now I had until Monday to mean it, and no idea who'd have me.