He stopped when he saw me.
For a split second, his face emptied of color. Then it filled with calculation.
“Oh,” he said quickly. “You’re early.”
The woman turned to him, confused. “Honey? You know the realtor?”
I closed my folder slowly and smiled.
“Yes,” I said. “We know each other very well.”
Ethan opened his mouth to speak.
And that’s when I decided not to let him.
I took control of the room before Ethan could.
“Why don’t you finish getting dressed,” I said to him calmly. “This will take a few minutes.”
He hesitated, then nodded, clearly hoping I’d leave before things got worse. He disappeared back into the bathroom.
The woman—Lily, she introduced herself—looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, this is awkward.”
“No need,” I said gently. “These things happen when paperwork overlaps.”
She relaxed. That told me something important: she had no idea.
I asked her questions the way a realtor would. Lease terms. Utilities. Plans for selling. Each answer tightened the knot in my chest.
Ethan had put our apartment on the market—my apartment, bought before we married—without my knowledge. He’d forged my signature on preliminary documents. Lily showed me the email thread on her phone, proud of how “transparent” Ethan had been.
When Ethan returned, dressed and pale, I closed my folder.
“I’ve seen enough,” I said. “I’ll be in touch.”
At the door, I turned to Lily. “One more thing. Can you check the deed? Just to confirm the owner’s name.”
Ethan snapped, “That’s not necessary.”
Lily frowned. “Why not?”
“Because,” I said softly, “it’s only in my name.”
Silence.
