Chapter 6: The Couch Across the Hall

Keaton's door was unlocked.

I sat on his couch with the divorce papers on my knees and read every page.

He stood in the kitchen with his back to me, making tea.

"You don't have to read it out loud," he said.

"I wasn't going to."

"You've been reading the same page for ten minutes."

I looked down.

He was right.

He set a mug in front of me and sat on the arm of the chair across the room.

"Can I say something?"

"You've been generous so far."

"Don't sign it. Not because of him. Because it's wrong." He nodded at the folder. "Page four says you waive any claim to the apartment."

"I know."

"Do you know what that's worth?"

"My father's life insurance," I said. "The down payment. The last thing he ever gave me."

He was quiet.

"I'm not leaving," I said. "I'm not signing. I'm getting my keys back, and I want everyone in that building to know why."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'm a nurse. I see people who wait too long to fight for what hurts." He shrugged. "I'd like to see you win."

I looked at him properly for the first time.

He had a scar through one eyebrow and a tired mouth.

His scrubs were in a pile by the door. He wore a gray T-shirt now, and the sleeves were pushed to his elbows.

I noticed his forearms.

Then I looked at the tea.

"I have a rule," I said. "If I stay here, I stay until I have my keys. You don't ask me anything I don't offer."

"One exception."

"Which?"

"Have you eaten?"

I opened my mouth.

I realized I hadn't since the toast.

He got up without a word and put a plate of pasta in front of me.

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