08

ETHAN LAUGH

~SIENNA~

The jingle of keys in the entryway dish sounded exactly like it did every other day.

I sat at the dining table, my hands resting flat on the wood. I'd made a simple dinner. I'd set the plates. I'd even poured the water.

Everything looked normal.

After my meeting with Rachel, I knew I had to keep the act on. One slip, and the legal advantage I was building would crumble.

Ethan walked into the kitchen, tossing his jacket over the back of a chair.

"Smells good," he said, leaning down to kiss my cheek.

I didn't move. I didn't flinch. I just felt the cold press of his skin against mine and remembered the frost on the bunker glass.

He had no idea I'd already seen a lawyer. He had no idea I was counting down the sixty days left in his comfortable world.

"Rough day?" he asked, pulling out his chair.

"I met with a lawyer today," I said.

Ethan paused with his fork halfway to his mouth.

He looked confused, his brow furrowing slightly.

"A lawyer? What for? Did something happen with the apartment lease?"

I looked directly at him. My heart didn't race. My hands didn't shake.

"I'm filing for divorce," I said.

The silence that followed was serious.

Ethan simply stared at me, his eyes searching my face for a punchline. He waited for the crack in my expression, for the tears, for the just kidding.

Then he laughed.

It wasn't a nervous chuckle. It was a genuine, amused laugh that reached his eyes. He shook his head and took a bite of his food.

"Good one, Sienna," he said. "You almost had me."

"I'm serious, Ethan."

He stopped chewing, his smile fading into a look of mild annoyance. He set his fork down with a quiet clack against the ceramic.

"You're still angry about that?" he asked. "The thing with the girl from accounting?"

I didn't answer. I just watched him.

"Sienna, come on," he said, leaning forward. "We went through this years ago. You're being dramatic again."

He smiled, that same practice-perfect smile he used when he wanted me to stop asking questions.

"You always do this when you're stressed," he said. "You say something extreme, you get all worked up, and then you calm down. Just take a breath."

He stood up and walked around the table, sitting in the chair next to me. He lowered his voice, making it soft and comforting. It was the tone he used to manage his mother.

"Think about everything we've been through," he said. "Six years, Sienna. Three years of marriage. Remember our first apartment? The way we had to share that one tiny desk?"

He reached for my hand. I pulled it back. I didn't jerk it away; I just moved it to my lap, out of his reach.

"You forgave me before," he reminded me. His voice was firm now, like he was reciting a contract. "We moved past it. You stayed. That means we're good."

He thought forgiveness was a life sentence. He thought because I had stayed once, I had lost the right to ever leave.

Ethan breathed out a long, tired breath. He wanted a fight. I could see it in the way his jaw set. He wanted me to scream, to cry, to throw the affair in his face so he could apologize and tell me I was overreacting.

"So what?" he snapped. "You're just throwing away six years of your life over a mood?"

"I'm not asking you to change your mind, Ethan," I said. "I'm telling you what I've done."

He frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means the conversation is over."

He didn't understand.

He was still looking at me like I was a problem to be solved, a malfunction in his routine. He wasn't listening to my words; he was just waiting for the 'old' Sienna to return.

Ethan gave another small, condescending laugh. He stood up and grabbed his jacket.

"You'll feel differently tomorrow," he said. "You're just angry. You need to sleep on this."

He walked over and kissed the top of my head. I sat perfectly still, feeling the weight of his dismissal.

"I'm going to go play some games and unwind," he said. "We'll talk when you're thinking clearly."

He walked down the hallway toward the spare room, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood. He didn't look back. He didn't even check to see if I was following him.

He was that sure of his control.

I watched the empty doorway for a long time.

I thought about everything Ethan didn't know. He didn't know about Rachel. He didn't know about the transaction records I'd handed to Rachel.

He didn't know about the $127,640 I had discovered in my mother's old investment account.

He didn't know about the estate document.

He didn't know that in sixty days, the power would die and the world would turn to ice. But most of all, he didn't know that I wasn't waiting for him to change.

I wasn't waiting for an apology or a promise.

The woman who used to wait for him was dead. I had watched her freeze. Ethan poked his head back into the dining room. He was smiling again, looking relaxed.

"You'll come back, Sienna," he said. "You always do."

He disappeared back into the hallway, the sound of his office chair rolling across the floor echoing a moment later.

I looked down at my empty hands.

'No,' I thought. 'I won't.'