It hadn't ended with the bow that she'd have liked to tie it up in. And yet she wanted it not to end badly. She consulted nobody but her inner voice, and sent the letter. “I don't want anything. No alimony, no maintenance. I want nothing from the house save my books and shoes. I don’t want the house. Or for you to get me one. Keep the car; you drove it anyway. Keep the company, and everything we earned together...However, may we end peacefully?

“The answer was an email from the husband drafted quite clearly by a lawyer. His texts seldom exceeded the letter, K (okay). His love letters? None. Work mail? She wrote all of it. This was a seven-pager with a turn-of-phrase unknown to the man. It accused. It cursed, within the confines of legal language, and it ranted. It went to pains to secure him of everything she’d given up basis her letter. Basically, read backwards it said: how dare you move on?