And Ethan moved instantly, rolling out of bed and opening my suitcase as if he’d done it a thousand times, while Brianna walked to my closet with the unthinking confidence of someone who already knew the layout, and my stomach turned because my blue folder—my “important papers,” the phrase Derek always said with that faintly mocking tone as if my adulthood was something cute—was not a mystery to them, it was part of their plan.
In my head, the past rewound in sharp, humiliating fragments: Derek helping me with inheritance paperwork after our parents died five years ago, Derek insisting I put most of the money into an investment fund “for my future,” Derek offering to check anything I signed because he was “better with numbers,” Derek smiling when I told him Ethan wanted a loan for his business and saying, “Good—she’s smart, marriage is a partnership,” as if marriage was a transaction and I was the easiest account to drain.