Chapter 7
Ethan set the sanding block down on the workbench, wiping his palms on his jeans. He leaned back against the edge of the wood, crossing his arms over his red plaid shirt. The afternoon sun cut through the dusty windows of the garage, casting long, sharp shadows across the concrete floor. "What is there to talk about, Claire?" he asked, his tone tired rather than combative. "The lawyer made it clear. The house is yours. My name isn't on the deed, and according to your father's final wishes, it never should be." "I spoke to a real estate attorney this morning," Claire said, taking a cautious step forward into the room. Ethan’s eyes flicked up sharply, a flicker of suspicion crossing his features before he masked it with indifference. "Oh yeah? What did your second opinion say?" "It said I can execute a quitclaim deed," Claire explained, her heart racing as she watched his reaction. "I can add your name back to the title. We can make it joint tenancy with rights of survivorship. Legally, it becomes ours again, fifty-fifty." Ethan stared at her for a long, agonizing moment. The silence in the garage stretched so thin she could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator inside the main house. He didn't look relieved; instead, his jaw tightened, and a hard glint returned to his eyes. "Charity, Claire?" he asked softly, the word dripping with bitter irony. "You want to hand me a piece of your inheritance out of pity?" "It’s not charity, Ethan!" Claire protested, her voice rising slightly, startling a pigeon outside in the eaves. "It’s what we built together! You spent three summers remodeling this kitchen. You built that nursery with your own hands. This house is as much yours as it is mine." "Legally, it isn't," Ethan countered, his voice hard and cold. "And that's the point. Every time I fixed a wall or laid a tile, I thought I was investing in our future. Turns out, I was just a hired hand doing unpaid labor on your property." "That is a cruel thing to say," Claire whispered, tears of frustration hot in her eyes. "Is that really what you think of our marriage? That I’ve been keeping score?" "I'm not keeping score, Claire. Your father kept score for us, and he made sure I lost." Ethan turned back to the workbench, picking up a chisel and refusing to look at her any longer. "If you want to sign the papers, do it. But don't pretend it makes things equal. Nothing will ever make this equal again." Claire stood frozen for a second, the cold rejection piercing deeper than any of his shouts had. She turned the stroller around, her vision blurred with tears, and walked back to the house, knowing the bridge between them had just been burned to ash.
