He Texted Me Divorce, So I Took 20 Million and Vanished novel · Chapter 31 of 32

Chapter 31: The Terms

I unfolded it on my knee.

The fireworks were still going, and the paper lit up gold, then green.

It was typed.

There were coffee rings on the second page.

At the top it said, TERMS. LEO FONTANA AND LOUISA LAMBERT.

Under that, in smaller letters: Draft eleven. Libby has not seen this.

I laughed out loud.

Leo held his phone over the page so I could read by the flashlight.

"Every line?" I said.

"Every line."

So I read every line, on a freezing granite block, while half of Portland kissed and shouted around us.

One. This has no end date.

Two. Everything you own stays yours. The house, the nursery, the twenty million, the bench. I don't get a vote on any of it.

Three. Everything I own goes to Charlie, Gus, June and Lucy. In equal parts. Lucy will want to renegotiate. Let her.

Four. If you ever want to leave, you leave. I won't text you a number. I'll carry the bags to the car.

I had to stop there for a second.

Leo didn't say anything.

He just held the light steady.

Five. I ask first. About pictures, about trips, about doctors, about my mother. Especially when I think I know the answer.

Six. Nobody parks in your driveway without your say. Exception: Libby's father, who will do it anyway.

Seven. I take the two o'clock feed until all four of them sleep through the night, or until they leave for college, whichever comes first.

Eight. I will not assemble furniture without supervision.

Nine. I will carve the turkey every year until I get it right. This may take the rest of my life.

Ten. My mother comes as close as you say and not one inch closer. You don't have to tell me why.

Eleven. We live on the point. If you ever want to live somewhere else, tell me where, and I'll learn to like it.

Twelve. I'll sing the shanty in tune by our tenth anniversary. I'm told this is ambitious.

At the bottom there were two lines.

His was already signed, in blue ink, and dated the Saturday after Thanksgiving.

Mine was blank.

Under it, he'd typed: You don't have to sign today. Or ever. The ring's still yes.

I folded the pages back up.

"You've had this since November," I said.

"In my coat. Every day."

"Every day you came up the path at two in the morning."

"Every day."

The old woman on her block was pouring something from her thermos.

I stood up and walked over to her.

"Do you have a pen?" I asked.

She looked at me, and at Leo, and at the paper.

She dug in her bag and handed me a pen from a bank.

I signed my name on the cold granite, under his.

Louisa Lambert.

The ink skipped on the second L, and I went over it.

I gave her back the pen.

"Congratulations, dear," she said. "He's the one who carried my wall."

He didn't go back down the path that night.

Libby's parents left at one, and Libby's mom gave me a look I chose not to see.

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