“We are still married,” I said, stepping closer to him, ignoring the attorney.

“You owe me. I gave you my life.”

“You gave me a lie,” Carl said.

His voice was so quiet, so devoid of the old warmth, that it chilled me more than the cold wind blowing through the lobby downstairs.

I looked at Mrs. Patterson, who was still leaning on her broom, taking in every word.

I looked at Mr. Alvarez, his arms crossed over his chest, a satisfied look on his old face.

They wanted to see me ruined.

They wanted to see me packed up in garbage bags and thrown onto the Brooklyn pavement.

I felt a hot prickle of sweat under my collar.

I couldn’t let them win. Not like this.

There had to be another way out, a loophole, a threat strong enough to make Carl bend.

My hand drifted down to my pocket, where my phone sat.

I thought about the bruises Carl had gotten on his arm last week when he tripped over the toolbox in the basement.