Chapter 2

The next morning, Adam leaned against the bedroom doorframe and asked which jacket would work for today's board meeting.

I was making myself coffee. "Left side of the closet. Pick one yourself."

He paused, like he hadn't understood my answer. "I'm meeting with executives from the bank today."

"The navy one would be perfect. Your cufflinks are in your drawer." I picked up my coffee cup.

For the past 13 years, he'd never had to think about what to wear. I rotated his wardrobe with the seasons, took his shirts to the dry cleaner, and packed for last-minute business trips. It was all done before he got out of bed. Now he had to go into the closet himself. Five minutes later, he called out to me again, asking where a certain tie was. I told him he could ask the housekeeper, then took Noah and left.

When the car pulled up at school, Noah rummaged through his backpack and suddenly said, "I left my sailboat project at home."

"When you packed your bag last night, did you check it against the teacher's list?"

"You always used to put it in for me."

"That's true. But last night I reminded you that you needed to check your own bag today." I brought the car to a smooth stop. "It's too late to go back for it now. You can tell your teacher what happened."

Noah yanked off his seat belt, his face flushed with anger. "Grandma was totally right. Dad works so hard to make money, and you stay home all day and won't even do one little thing."

My hands froze on my seat belt. Outside the car, kids with backpacks were running toward the school gate, and security was greeting every student. On an ordinary morning like this, I could have done what I always did: covered for him, taken care of everything for my husband, and pretended those hurtful words had never reached me.

"Noah, look at me."

He reluctantly turned to face me.

"Yesterday I helped you fix your sailboat, not because it's my duty as a mother, but because I wanted to do it for you. You can forget your homework, and you can be mad, but you can't decide my time is worthless just because Dad makes money. That's not just rude. It's not true."

Noah pressed his lips together. "Grandma says you don't have a job."

"You can ask Grandma why she thinks that." I pushed the car door open. "I'll pick you up after school. Now go find your teacher and explain what happened."

After I dropped my son off, I called Helen from the parking lot. She didn't sound flustered at all. First she gushed about how wonderful Noah had been at his party. Then she cited foundation policy, saying public materials only ever listed official representatives.

"But this event wasn't run by the foundation alone," I pushed back. "I sent every planning email, and I signed off on the budget."

"Of course I know how much you did, Erin. It's just that the Holt family's public image needs to be clean and simple. You're Adam's wife. That role already covers everything you've done."

I heard the soft clink of china on the other end. Helen was having tea in the parlor. She sounded just as she had when she first taught me how to introduce myself to sponsors 13 years ago.

"Helen, from now on, please have the staff handle the foundation's business directly. I'm not getting involved anymore."

"Sweetheart, are you just tired?"

"I am. That's why I'm going to stop."

At dinner, I told Adam about the conversation. He finally looked up from his emails and promised he'd talk to Noah, then quickly added, "Let's not bring it up today. He has class tomorrow. I don't want him going to bed upset."

"Last night you said the same thing, that we'd deal with it at home."

"I promised I'd handle it."

"When?"

Adam's patience was wearing thin. "Erin, I make a dozen major decisions a day. Do I have to come home and get grilled over and over about one thing the kid said?"

I put down my fork and knife. "The problem isn't that one thing he said. You saw the whole thing happen, and you let me face the embarrassment alone."

He didn't answer. His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and pushed his plate aside.

The next afternoon, I sat across from my lawyer, Kate, in her office. When I said I wanted a divorce, she didn't jump straight to custody. She asked what mattered most to me, then walked me through the legal process step by step: filing the petition, serving the papers, disclosing our finances, making temporary arrangements, and finally obtaining a judgment. No agreement signed in private could make a 13-year marriage disappear overnight.

"Are you planning to stop seeing your son completely?" Kate asked.

"Of course not." I shook my head. "I still love Noah. I just don't want to stay stuck in that house, doing all the chores everyone else avoids."

"Then separate the two. The marriage can end, but you still have to work out your responsibilities as parents."

From my folder, I pulled out records of the design fees I'd earned before the marriage, statements from our joint account, and Noah's complete class schedule. The stack was startlingly thick.