I pushed it open.
Diane was standing beside my filing cabinet.
She had a flashlight in one hand.
A folder in the other.
My stomach dropped.
“What are you doing?”
She jumped.
The folder slipped.
Several papers hit the floor.
Diane turned pale.
“Claire.”
I stepped inside.
“What are you doing in here?”
“I was looking for something.”
“At two in the morning?”
She moved toward the papers.
I moved faster.
I picked one up.
Then I froze.
It was a property document.
My apartment address was printed across the top.
There were pages of legal language.
I scanned the bottom.
My name appeared.
Claire Bennett.
And beneath it was a signature.
My signature.
Except I had never signed that paper.
I stared at it.
“What is this?”
Diane reached toward me.
“Give me that.”
I stepped back.
“What is this?”
“It’s nothing.”
I looked down again.
It appeared to authorize a transfer of ownership interest.
I did not understand every line.
But I understood enough.
The document described adding Ethan Bennett as a joint owner.
My hands started shaking.
I looked at Diane.
“Where did you get this?”
She said nothing.
“Where did you get this?”
Her voice dropped.
“Ethan was going to explain.”
My stomach turned cold.
“Explain what?”
She looked toward the hallway.
Then she lowered her voice.
“He was trying to protect himself.”
“From what?”
“From you.”
I stared at her.
“From me?”
“You keep reminding everyone the apartment is yours.”
“Because it is.”
“You’re married.”
“That does not give him the right to forge my name.”
Diane’s eyes widened.
“I didn’t say he forged anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I lifted the page.
“This is not my signature.”
She stepped forward again.
“Claire.”
“Stay back.”
She stopped.
I reached for my phone.
Diane lunged toward the paper.
I moved away.
“Do not touch me.”
“You’re misunderstanding.”
“Then explain.”
She looked terrified now.
That frightened me more than anger would have.
“I need Ethan.”
“No.”
I started taking pictures.
Every page.
Every signature line.
Every date.
Diane rushed toward the hallway.
I blocked the door.
“You are not leaving with anything.”
“I live here.”
“Not anymore.”
Her face changed.
“You can’t throw me out in the middle of the night.”
“I can call the police.”
That stopped her.
“You wouldn’t.”
I stared at the forged signature.
“Try me.”
She went silent.
Then footsteps sounded upstairs.
Ethan appeared.
He wore sweatpants.
His hair was messy.
“What the hell is going on?”
I held up the paper.
His face drained of color.
That was my answer.
“You know exactly what this is.”
He stared at Diane.
“Mom?”
She started crying.
“I told you she was going to find out.”
