Justin came home at midnight smelling of antiseptic and expensive cologne. He saw the photographs on the dining table and did not even bother to lie to me.
“They’re mine,” he said.
I looked at the man I had built a life around and tried to keep my voice steady. “The twins?”
He loosened his tie with complete indifference. “A boy and a girl. Rachel and I didn’t plan it, but maybe life gave me what you couldn’t.”
The cruelty was deliberate. He wanted tears, screaming, and proof that he still controlled the temperature of every room he entered.
Instead, I slid a folder toward him. “Divorce papers. Sign where the flags are.”
His mouth curled into a smug smile. “That’s it?”
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