She had no money, no car, and her father was in the back of a police car.

The rain began to fall harder, wetting her hair and ruining her cashmere sweater.

“This isn’t over,” she said to my father.

“We still have the divorce hearing.”

“The judge will give me half of everything.”

“I am your wife.”

My father looked at her with a calm, steady expression.

“We will see what the judge says when they see the fraud reports,” he said.

“Come on, Sophie.”

He turned and walked back toward his truck.

I followed him, not looking back at her again.

We climbed into the warm cab.

My father started the engine and turned on the heater.

The vents blew warm air onto my cold hands.

We watched the tow truck back into the driveway to hook up Claire’s Mercedes.

She stood on the wet lawn, holding her useless phone, watching her life get towed away.

“Are you okay?” my father asked, looking over at me.

“Yes,” I said.

“I just want this to be finished.”

“It will be soon,” he said, shifting the truck into drive.