I carried June upstairs and laid her gently on her bed. Sadie changed into pajamas without speaking much. I packed their favorite clothes, school tablets, birth certificates, medical records, stuffed animals, and the framed photo from last spring where both girls stood in muddy boots after planting tulips.
Then I went to the master bedroom.
For eleven years, I had shared drawers with a man who thought my quiet was emptiness.
I opened the safe behind the cedar panel in my closet.
Inside were documents Warren had never cared to ask about.
My commission.
My promotion orders.
My security clearance acknowledgments.
My separate property records.
My grandfather’s trust documents.
The deed transfers.
The investigative notes Rowan had quietly collected after I discovered Warren had forged my signature during my last deployment.
That had been the first crack.
A credit card I never opened.
A loan application I never signed.
