At our wedding reception, my husband stood up and announced that his mother would be moving into my apartment and taking control of it.

Robert Fenn sent a letter the following morning.

Grace called me while I was at my desk at work, and I stepped into the corridor to take it.

"He's claiming the prenuptial agreement is invalid," she said.

I leaned against the wall.

"On what grounds?"

"Duress.

Michael's attorney is arguing that Michael signed under emotional pressure and without adequate time to review.

They're also claiming the agreement was presented too close to the wedding date for Michael to have obtained independent legal counsel."

"He had six weeks."

"I know.

I have the timeline documented.

The agreement was presented forty-three days before the wedding.

Michael was given the name of three independent attorneys and declined to consult any of them.

He signed voluntarily." Grace's voice was steady, the way it always was when she was already three steps ahead.

"This challenge will not succeed.

But it will take time and it will cost money, and that is precisely the point."

"They want to drain me."

"They want to make you tired.

Tired people make bad decisions."

I looked down the corridor.

Through the glass wall of the conference room, I could see my colleagues in a meeting I was supposed to be in.

"What do I do?"

"Nothing different.

I respond to Fenn today with our documentation.

We let the process move.

In the meantime, did you file the police report for the ring?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

"Good.

Has Michael tried to contact you directly?"

"He's sent four texts.

I haven't responded."

"Keep it that way.

Everything goes through me."

I went back into the meeting.

I sat down and opened my laptop and answered two questions about quarterly projections, and the whole time I was thinking about the word duress and what it meant that Michael had signed his name to a document and was now willing to say in a legal filing that he had been forced.

That evening, Michael appeared at Diane's door.

Diane called me from the hallway while he waited on the step.

"He's here.

Do you want me to send him away?"

I thought for a moment.

"No.

Let him in.

Stay in the room."

He looked worse than I had expected.

His jacket was wrinkled.

He hadn't shaved.

He sat in Diane's armchair with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped, and for a long moment he didn't say anything.

"I didn't know about the ring," he said finally.

"Which part didn't you know about?"

"Any of it.

The ring.

Going into your apartment." He looked up.

"That was her.

I gave her the key because she asked me for it and I didn't think — I didn't ask why.

I should have asked why."

"Yes.

You should have."

"Caroline—"

"Your attorney filed a claim this morning saying you signed the prenuptial agreement under duress."

He closed his eyes.

"I know."

"Did you ask him to do that?"

A pause.

"My mother spoke to Robert."

"Your mother instructed your attorney to file a legal challenge on your behalf without telling you."

"She said it was the only way to—" He stopped.

"The only way to what?"

He didn't answer.

Diane was standing near the kitchen doorway with her arms folded.

She wasn't looking at Michael.

She was looking at me.

"Michael," I said.

"I need you to understand something.

I am not the person who made this situation.

I signed a legal document that protected both of us.

I asked questions that deserved answers.

I did not go into your home without permission.

I did not take anything that belonged to you.

I did not stand at a microphone and announce plans I had made without consulting you."

He put his face in his hands.

"I know."

"Then tell me what you want."

He looked up.

His eyes were red at the edges.

"I want to fix this."

"Fixing it means withdrawing the legal challenge.

It means getting the ring back.

It means telling me the truth about what your mother did in my apartment and when."

"If I do that—"

"What?"

He shook his head slowly.

"She'll never forgive me."

I looked at him for a long moment.

The man I had said yes to.

The man who had leaned close at our wedding reception smelling of whiskey and told me his mother was moving into my home as if it were already decided.

"Michael," I said.

"I'm not asking you to choose between us.

I'm asking you to tell the truth.

Those are not the same thing."

He left an hour later without promising anything.

But when he reached the door, he turned back.

"She has the ring," he said.

"She took it the week before the wedding.

She told me it was insurance."

The door closed behind him.

Diane and I sat in the quiet for a moment.

"Insurance," Diane said.