The letter arrives Saturday afternoon, delivered by a process server who won't meet my eyes.
I sign for it standing in my doorway, still in pajamas because I haven't had the energy to be a real person today. Tomorrow I testify. Tomorrow I face Ethan in court. Tomorrow everything ends or begins, I'm not sure which.
The envelope is heavy. Cream colored. Expensive paper. My name written in handwriting I'd recognize anywhere, even though I've tried so hard to forget it.
Violet.
Not Ms. Carter. Not my formal name. Just Violet, like we're still married, like he still has the right to call me that.
I should throw it away unopened. Should burn it on principle. But my hands are already tearing the seal, pulling out pages, three of them, covered front and back in Ethan's precise script.
I star
