People nearby glanced over. Natalie slowly capped the pen and placed it on the table.
“I signed,” she replied softly. “That is all that matters.”
Brandon stood, kissed the woman beside him, and walked out with swagger. He left with the suburban house, the joint account, the car, and every piece of furniture they once chose together. Natalie walked out alone, carrying a single worn backpack and a key to her grandmother old apartment in the east side of the city. A building with cracked paint, leaky pipes, and the smell of dust in every hallway.
If anyone had looked at her in that moment, they would have seen a defeated woman. No one knew what had happened three nights earlier.
The apartment had been silent at two in the morning when the landline rang. It was a relic on the wall that Natalie had never bothered to unplug. She almost ignored it, but something told her to pick up.
“Ms. Foster,” a calm male voice said. “My name is Attorney Malcolm Pricewell. I apologize for calling at this hour. I represent the estate of your aunt, Beatrice Holloway.”
Natalie blinked in confusion. “My aunt Beatrice passed away years ago.”