I saw the graying hair at his temples that I used to find distinguished, now just looking tired. I saw the softness around his jaw from too much scotch and too little work. And I saw the cruelty in his eyes.

“So it’s the house or the marriage?” I asked, picking up the heavy fountain pen from the desk set.

“It’s about fairness, Meredith,” he corrected, though his eyes darted to the pen in my hand with hungry anticipation. “Sign it, and we can go back to normal. Don’t, and I’ll make sure you lose everything anyway.”

I uncapped the pen.

The gold nib glinted in the morning light. My heart should have been racing. I should have been screaming, throwing things, calling the police. But a strange, icy calm settled over me.

It was the calm of a surgeon before the first cut.

“Okay, Stuart,” I said softly. “You win.”