He stared at me for a long moment, trying to read my face.

He looked down at the blue folder containing the trust agreement.

“I will leave these with you,” he said, sliding the papers toward the center of the table. “Look them over. You will see I am only trying to help.”

He picked up his car keys from the counter.

The brass keychain clinked against his wedding ring.

“We will talk tomorrow,” he said.

He walked out the back door, letting the screen door slam shut behind him.

The cool evening air of Fredericksburg drifted through the screen, smelling of damp earth and river water.

I stood in the kitchen until I heard the sound of his sedan starting in the driveway.

The tires crunched on the gravel as he backed out onto the main road.

Once the sound of his engine faded into the distance, I reached for the blue folder.

The paper felt thick and expensive, much like everything Thomas bought when he wanted to impress people.

I carried it into my small home office at the back of the house.