She wore jeans, sneakers, and an oversized cream sweater.
Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail.
Her eyes looked swollen, as though she'd been crying.
For a moment, she looked so much like the woman I'd once known that my chest tightened.
Then I noticed the thick folder in her hand.
I unlocked the door but kept the security chain engaged.
“Rachel?”
She looked at me.
“We need to talk.”
I took a breath.
“About what?”
“About what you've done.”
My grip tightened on the door.
“Rachel, I have an attorney.”
“I know. You've made that very clear.”
She glanced at the chain.
“Are you seriously going to make me stand outside my own house?”
I hesitated.
She still had a legal right to enter our jointly owned home.
I wasn't going to pretend otherwise.
I unhooked the chain and stepped aside.
Rachel walked into the hallway.
Her familiar perfume followed her.
For a terrible moment, I almost said something ordinary.
Do you want coffee?
Did you sleep okay?
Have you eaten?
Old habits rose before I could stop them.
Instead, I said, “Whatever you need to discuss about the documents, I'd prefer to do it through our attorneys.”
Rachel turned toward me.
“Mike, please. Can't we just talk without treating each other like enemies?”
I looked at the folder.
“Are those the documents?”
She glanced down.
“Yes.”
“Then we should have this conversation with legal counsel.”
She closed her eyes.
“That's exactly what I was afraid you'd say.”
She walked into the living room and stopped beside the wooden console table.
Her eyes moved to the spot where my wedding ring had been.
It was gone.
So was our wedding photograph.
She looked toward me.
“Where's the picture?”
“I put it away.”
She swallowed.
“You really meant what you said.”
“Yes.”
For a moment, she looked genuinely hurt.
And despite everything, that expression still affected me.
“Mike,” she whispered, “I know I've handled things badly.”
I didn't answer.
“I know the thirty-day idea sounded terrible.”
“It didn't just sound terrible.”
She nodded impatiently.
“Fine. It was terrible. But I was confused, and I was trying to figure out what I wanted.”
“While telling Daniel our divorce was already agreed.”
Her eyes shifted away.
“I told him things were moving in that direction.”
“He said you told him we were separated months ago.”
She looked down.
“Daniel misunderstood.”
I felt exhausted.
“Did he misunderstand when you told him I had agreed to a property settlement?”
She gripped the folder.
“Mike, I came here because I thought we could still handle this privately.”
I stared at her.
“There are documents with my signature on them that I didn't sign.”
“I'm aware.”
“Then tell me how that happened.”
Rachel looked toward the kitchen.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Finally, she whispered, “I needed the bank to start processing the application.”
My heart began pounding.
“So you signed for me?”
“I didn't think of it that way.”
“What way did you think of it?”
“As temporary paperwork.”
I stared at her.
“Temporary paperwork?”
“Mike, listen. We both know there's equity in this house. I was going to receive part of it eventually. I just needed to get things moving.”
“You were going to receive whatever we legally agreed to or whatever the court decided.”
“I know that!”
“Then why is there a power of attorney with my signature on it?”
She looked away.
“Because I knew you'd refuse to sign anything while you were upset about Daniel.”
I stood motionless.
It was the closest thing to a confession I had heard.
She had assumed I would refuse.
So she had tried to proceed without me.
“Rachel,” I said quietly, “you didn't ask.”
She looked back.
“What?”
“You keep saying you knew I'd say no. You never even asked.”
She pressed her lips together.
“I didn't want another fight.”
“You thought forging my signature was easier than having a fight?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Please stop using that word.”
“What word?”
“Forging.”
I looked at her.
“Then tell me what happened.”
She wiped her face.
“I used a signature you had already provided on another document. I didn't invent it.”
For a moment, I genuinely couldn't believe what I'd heard.
She was trying to distinguish between forging my signature by hand and copying it from something I had actually signed.
As though the method made the lack of permission irrelevant.
“Did you have my authorization to put that signature on a power of attorney?”
She looked at the floor.
“No.”
The word was barely audible.
I felt the room grow strangely quiet.
“Then you know what it was.”
Rachel began crying.
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“Once everything settled down.”
“After the lender approved the loan?”
She didn't answer.
“After the money was available?”
Her shoulders shook.
“Mike, please.”
“After you bought a condo with Daniel?”
She looked up sharply.
“That's not fair.”
I stared at her.
“It's in the paperwork, Rachel.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“We were looking at possibilities.”
“You were planning a purchase.”
“Nothing was final!”