There was a silence. Her attorney suggested returning to the documents. Miriam agreed, but Tessa interrupted before he could continue.
"I wasn't trying to steal from you," she said. "I was trying to complete a deal that would make both of us better off."
I stared at her. "You ended our relationship while the freight truck was at my workshop. How was that supposed to make both of us better off?"
She looked down at her hands. "Because we weren't going anywhere. You know that. You wouldn't talk seriously about marriage or moving or building something bigger."
"So you decided to sell my father's furniture?"
"I decided I couldn't keep waiting for your life to start."
The sentence hurt more than I expected. I thought of the years I'd spent building a business, paying wages, repairing furniture that mattered to families, caring for Dad, and maintaining a home. None of it counted as a life to her because it hadn't expanded into the version of success she'd pictured. I felt the old urge to defend every choice I'd made, then let it pass.
"My life had started," I said. "You wanted a different one."
She looked away. I could tell the distinction hadn't occurred to her in quite that form. For years, we'd argued about whether I was holding us back. Neither of us had asked whether we were pursuing the same destination.
Miriam returned to the document. "We need to establish precisely who prepared this release and how it was transmitted."
Tessa's attorney said those matters would be addressed in formal responses. Tessa pressed her lips together and said nothing. I watched her carefully. She no longer seemed capable of pretending it was a routine appraisal, but she wasn't ready to acknowledge the forged signature in front of lawyers either.
Instead she turned toward me. "Adrian doesn't love me. He's acting like he suddenly grew a conscience because he thinks you're going to sue him."
I nodded. "Maybe that's true."