I froze when I read that. Abandonment. The plan wasn’t just to take the house. It was to make it look like I had left. That I had walked out on my marriage. That I had quit. As if a woman could spend years cleaning a house only to be accused of abandoning it.
The next morning, while Bruno was showering, I put the originals back exactly where they were. Then I put on my yellow gloves. I cleaned. But no longer as a wife. As a detective.
Under a pile of receipts, I found deposits made to Sarah. In a notebook, I found a list written by Bruno:
Notary signature.
Move clothes out little by little.
Talk to Mom.
Change the locks.
Sarah moves in in June.
June. Three weeks away. I was cleaning up my own eviction.
I saved photos of everything. Then I made coffee and served it to Bruno in his favorite mug, the black one that said “The Boss.” I set it in front of him.
“I can’t go to the notary today,” I said.
His face tensed. “Why not?”
