I gave him a small, tired smile.
“And there you are.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means every apology you give lasts until the second I don’t agree with you.”
His eyes filled with frustration.
“I love you.”
“No.”
His face changed.
“You don’t get to tell me what I feel.”
“And you don’t get to call control love.”
He stepped closer.
“You’re throwing away everything because you’re too proud to forgive one bad morning.”
“My pride is one of the few things you didn’t manage to take from me.”
Rachel opened the courtroom door.
“It’s time.”
We went inside.
The judge reviewed the agreement.
Asked whether I understood it.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Asked whether I was signing voluntarily.
“Yes.”
Then he turned to Mason.
Mason hesitated.
For a second, I wondered whether he would refuse.
Finally, he muttered, “Yes.”
We signed.
The scratching of my pen across the paper lasted maybe four seconds.
