The silence in the room was thicker than the calfskin contract in Nathan’s hands. He stood tall, dressed in his navy suit, holding the divorce papers as if they were a trophy.
“Here,” he said callously, tossing the blue folder onto the glass coffee table.
Amelia sat excellently still on the cream-colored sofa, her back straight, fingers weaved in her lap. She looked flawless in her ivory pantsuit, not a wrinkle out of place, not a tremble in her hands.