the lid.
Inside, there was a thick stack of white paper. At least two hundred pages. And on top of the stack, there was a single folded document with a blue cover.
He took out the blue document first. He held it up.
“Divorce papers,” he said. “My lawyer drew them up last Tuesday. They’re already signed. My part, anyway. You’ll need to sign yours.” He set them on the table next to the phones. “The house was
mine before we got married. We signed a prenup. You probably don’t remember. You didn’t read it very carefully. You were in a hurry to get to the cake tasting.”
Then he took out the thick stack of paper underneath. He held it with both hands. It was heavy.
“And these,” he said, “are all the messages. From those phones. I printed them out. Every single one. Two hundred and twelve pages. Going back eight months.”
He looked at Michael.
“Eight months,” he said. “Since our wedding. Since the night of our wedding, actually. The first message is from 11:52 p.m. On our wedding night. While I was downstairs saying goodbye to my grandmother.”
He flipped to the first page. He read it out loud.
