Divorce Suits Me Better

(Sabrina’s POV)“Congratulations, Mrs. Cooper. You’re one month pregnant.”My fingertips landed on my stomach before I told them to. The doctor kept talking, but I was already three streets ahead. Already pricing the crib. Already picking the name.Pregnant.For three years I had been Nate Cooper’s wife in name only. One night, a month ago, on our anniversary, he had come home drunk and reeking of someone else’s perfume and whispered another woman’s name into my hair until the sun came up.The next morning he left me a note on the kitchen counter.Sorry. It was a mistake. Don’t read into it.I had ironed his shirts that day anyway.I drove home with the receipt for prenatal vitamins folded against my wedding ring. I stopped at the market.Salmon, because Nate pretended not to like it but always finished his plate. Lemons. The cabernet from our wedding night. A small white candle, because three years ago I had promised myself I would light one on our first real anniversary—and tonight,

(Sabrina’s POV)I picked up Nate’s pen. The pen I had bought him for our first anniversary, engraved with his initials on the side. He had never used it. The barrel was cold.I signed.I clicked the pen shut and laid it down across the form, right over the word consent.My hand did not shake. I did not cry.“There. Done.”Nate’s mouth opened. He looked, for one flicker of a second, shaken. Like he had expected tears. Like he had prepared himself for begging. Not this.“Sabrina—”“Don’t.”I walked past Alexis. I walked past my husband. I walked into the bedroom that had been mine for three years and turned the lock with both hands.For about ten seconds, I felt strong.For about ten seconds I told myself: I’ll call a lawyer. I’ll file for divorce myself. I’ll take whatever scraps the court gives me and I’ll get out.Then the ten seconds ran out.I wanted a divorce more than I had ever wanted anything, but wanting and affording are two different languages.I had nowhere to go.Aunt Nanc

(Sabrina’s POV)I woke up because there was someone in the room.Not in the room—in the next room. Through the door I could hear the soft give of a couch and the slow constant noise of someone breathing. I tried to sit up, but my chest hurt. My throat felt as if I had swallowed gravel.My hand went to my stomach.Still there. Still flat. Still a secret.I breathed out.A suite with high ceiling and cream curtains, and a vase of white peonies on the dresser I could smell from the bed.My peony.I had told Aunt Nancy once, two summers ago, that I wished I could have peonies in the kitchen. Aunt Nancy did not have the money for white peonies and a suite like this.Someone else had paid for these.Suddenly, I remembered. That deep voice from the hospital bed. I’d thought it was a dream.Sister. My name is Eric Atwood. I have been looking for you for a very long time.I sat up so fast my vision went black.When it cleared, I was looking at a man standing in the doorway between the rooms.H

(Sabrina’s POV)I did not knock.My hand was on the door before I had a word ready. Through it I had heard the name and the name was still ringing, and I was not going to lie in that bed for one more minute with the name on the other side of a wall.I turned the handle and walked in.Five heads came up around the dining table.It was not the look of men caught at something. It was the look of men startled out of a half-eaten breakfast. Charlie still had a piece of toast in his hand. Tyler had a pen behind his ear. Eric was on his feet first.“You should be in bed.”“Who is Alexis Atwood to you?”The brothers looked at each other. There was no secrecy in the look. They were puzzled I was asking.“Uncle Richard’s situation…she needs to know,” Charlie said carefully, around the toast.I sat down. My legs did it without consulting me.Eric pulled out the chair beside mine and turned it to face me. He waited a beat before he spoke.“Our father had a younger brother. Richard. He died eight

(Nate’s POV)I did not recognize my own house.There was music coming from the morning room. Two women I had never seen were on the back patio with their feet up on my furniture. A florist’s arrangement the size of a small dog was on the foyer table. The card was signed by a name I did not know.Alexis came around the corner in a silk robe. She was on her phone. She kissed my cheek without looking up.“My stylist will be here all week, baby. Her husband too. And the wellness coach.” She turned the phone toward the patio. “They keep me calm. The baby needs me calm.”I looked at her stomach. It was barely a stomach. I looked at the line of empty wine bottles on the counter beyond her. She is pregnant. Why are there wine bottles?I went up to my study and shut the door.My assistant, Reed, was on the line within ten minutes.“Sir, I have called every hospital in the state. I have even notified the police, but they refuse to report her as missing. Every hotel and every hospital she might