I wandered to the kitchen, the papers still in hand, trying to grasp the enormity of the situation.
Around me, the house was silent, except for the occasional creak of the floorboards under my feet.
We had been living a twisted routine of grief and caretaking, managing calls from distant relatives and coordinating with the funeral home.
All the while, I attempted to hold together the fragments of what once felt like a stable family.
My husband seemed more distant each day, immersed in work or hours away in silent brooding.
A shadow I couldn’t reach.
The power dynamic between us became clearer with every visit to the lawyer’s office and the family counselor.
He had the upper hand—managing the money, having access to legal advice, and pushing for the separation.
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