We ate sandwiches in the kitchen.

For the first time in months, we didn’t have to listen to Richard talking about his investments or his golf games.

We didn’t have to walk on eggshells around his temper.

But I knew this peace was temporary.

Richard’s plane was scheduled to return on Friday.

Today was Monday.

I had four days to finish the transformation of the lot.

That evening, after the kids had gone to sleep, I sat at the kitchen table.

I had printed the divorce petition.

The pages were clean and white.

I placed them inside a plastic, waterproof sleeve I had bought at the office supply store.

My phone sat on the table next to the papers.

Suddenly, it buzzed.

The screen lit up with an incoming text.

It was an unknown number, but I knew the area code.

It was a Hawaii number.

I swiped to open it.

It wasn’t Richard.

It was Valerie.

“Hi Alexandra,” the message read.

“Just wanted to make sure you’ve cleared your things out of the master closet.”

“Richard says we’re remodeling as soon as we land.”