“I do now.”
Natalie slid the purchase agreement toward me.
“The offer is clean,” she said.
“Cash.
No financing contingency.
The buyer will waive inspection delays, but the title attorney wants confirmation that the prenup covers any claimed marital interest.”
“It does,” Garret snapped.
“But she isn’t signing anything.”
Natalie looked at him.
“You are not a party to the sale.”
His face flushed.
He turned to me and lowered his voice, shifting from public arrogance to the private tone he used when intimidation needed to sound like concern.
“Audrey, you gave birth three days ago.
You’re exhausted.
You’re emotional.
Do not make a permanent decision because you’re upset.”
I had heard similar words from him whenever I challenged something he wanted.
Tired when I disagreed.
Sensitive when I noticed disrespect.
Emotional when facts stopped serving him.
I touched the blanket beside me.
It was still cold from the rain.
“You changed the code while I was at Maya’s appointment,” I said.
“You sent me a photograph from Miami.
You told me I could return when I apologized to your mother.
Which part of that did you do accidentally?”
He looked away.
His mother answered for him.
“He needed space.”
“So he removed me from my property.”
“It is his marital residence.”
“And where was his daughter supposed to sleep tonight?” Paige asked.
Garret pointed toward the screen.
“I am not discussing my child with you.”
“You weren’t discussing her at all,” Paige said.
“You left the state.”
He ended the call.
For several seconds, the kitchen was silent.
Then Natalie’s phone began vibrating.
Garret called her twice.
His mother called once.
A message arrived from Garret demanding every property file and warning Natalie that she would be sued if she proceeded.
Natalie read it, saved it, and placed her phone facedown.
“The buyer needs an answer tonight,” she said.
I picked up the pen.
Paige touched my wrist.
“Are you sure?”
I looked around her kitchen.
A sterilized bottle sat near the sink.
Maya slept in a borrowed bassinet beside the table.
My hospital bag remained in the trunk because everything I had prepared for our first night home was locked inside Redwood Crest.
Garret had made his choice when he decided my access to shelter depended on obedience.
I signed the agreement.
The next morning, a family-law attorney reviewed the deed, payment records, mortgage release, and prenup.
The agreement Garret had signed before our wedding did more than identify Redwood Crest as my premarital property.
It stated that neither spouse would acquire ownership merely by living in, maintaining, or improving the other’s separately titled real estate.
