The man who had promised to protect me had reduced himself to a thief in a cheap suit.

“The divorce papers are ready for your signature,” Rachel said as we walked out of the courthouse.

The autumn wind was bitter, chasing dry maple leaves across the concrete plaza.

“Let’s sign them today,” I said.

We went back to her office, and I signed my name on the final decree.

The ink dried quickly under the fluorescent lights.

“It’s over, Claire,” Daniel said, standing by the window.

“Almost,” I said. “The foundation is safe, but the house is still full of her things.”

The next morning, I drove back to Concord.

The trees along the highway were bare, their black branches reaching into the low grey clouds.

The Hart family estate looked vast and silent against the autumn hills.

I let myself in through the heavy front door.

The air inside was cold, and the silence was heavy.

I had hired a moving company to bring boxes, which sat in neat, empty stacks in the foyer.

I started in the parlor, wrapping the porcelain and the silver in thick brown paper.