stop you.”
She didn’t say anything. She just cried.
I turned to Michael.
“Get your things out of the guest room,” I said. “I’m taking the car. I’m taking the kids. You can find your own way home.”
“Jenna, please. We have two children. We have ten years. You can’t just—”
“You’re right,” I said. “We have ten years. And you gave eight months of it to her. So I guess you’ll have to figure out which one matters more.”
Then I turned around.
Tom was standing by the table with the phones and the divorce papers and the two hundred and twelve pages. He looked exhausted. His shoulders were slumped. His eyes behind his glasses were red.
“Jenna,” he said quietly. “Wait.”
He picked up a large yellow envelope from the table. It had been sitting under the box. I hadn’t seen it.
