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Chapter 9- The Morning After Everything

last update publish date: 2026-04-03 00:37:52

I did not sleep.

Not because of Michael. Not because of the divorce lawyers who will be making calls before sunrise. Not even because of the flash drive sitting on the hotel nightstand beside me like a small plastic grenade.

Because of her voice.

Low. Breathless. Disoriented in the specific way of someone pulled from sleep in a warm bed by a ringing phone that is not theirs.

I have replayed it approximately four hundred times since I hung up. Each time it lands in a different place first my sto
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  • Seducing My Brother-in-Law   Chapter 64- Box Twelve

    Arthur calls on a Saturday morning in September at seven fourteen.Samuel answers before the second ring.I lie in the warm September bed and listen to his side of the conversation from the kitchen, where he took the call to let me sleep.I do not sleep.I lie still and listen.“Yes,” Samuel says. Then a long silence. Then: “Read it.” Another silence. Much longer. Then: “All of it.”I get up.I wrap myself in the robe that has been on the hook by the door since Clinton Hill in winter, and I go to the kitchen doorway.Samuel is at the table with the phone pressed to his ear and both hands flat on the surface, the way he stands at the canvas when the painting is resolving, and he needs to be still.He looks up when I appear.He holds the phone out.I take it.“Arthur,” I say.“Khloe,” he says. “Good morning. I am sorry for the hour.”“What is in box twelve?” I say.“Gerald’s last notebook,” he says. “Not letters. Not provisions. Not drafts.” He pauses. “He wrote it in the final two week

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    Michael brings Gerald's draft of the charitable foundation to the Thomas board meeting on the third Thursday of June.He calls Samuel that evening.Samuel takes the call in the second bedroom studio while I sit at the kitchen table with the Theresa follow-up brief and the June evening coming through the open window.I hear Samuel's side."Yes," he says. Three times. Then: "When." Then: "Good." Then a long silence, during which he listens. Then: "Tell me what he said exactly."Another long silence.Then: "Thank you for calling, Michael."He comes back to the kitchen.He sits across from me."The board approved the foundation restructuring," he says.I put the brief down."Unanimously?" I say."Four to one," he says. "One board member abstained because community legal services was too narrow a focus. Michael proposed a broader mandate. Access to justice initiatives. Legal aid. Civil rights advocacy. Community legal education." He pauses. "The abstaining member voted yes on the broader m

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    Kezia clerks for Judge Patricia Monroe of the Southern District of New York.Samuel calls her on a Thursday evening in April after the Diane paintings go up and the boulevard trees are back and the case that mattered has closed the way cases that matter should close. He tells her about the courthouse painting. He describes the five figures. The specific postures of women standing in the room that is theirs.She listens.She does not interrupt.When he finishes, she says, "I know the right wall.""Tell me," he says."The third floor corridor," she says. "Outside the courtrooms where employment discrimination cases are heard. Families wait there for hours sometimes. They sit on benches, and they look at the walls." She pauses. "The walls have nothing on them. They have been nothing for thirty years." Another pause. "They should have something.""Yes," he says. "They should.""I will talk to Judge Monroe," she says. "She has been wanting to address the corridor walls for two years. She s

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    Three days ago, Samuel Thomas had me completely undone in a hotel suite on the fourteenth floor.Today I have to sit beside his brother in a church and pretend I am still the woman I was before that room.I am not that woman anymore.I knew it the moment I woke up Sunday morning, Michael is asleep

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    I stare at the message for so long that the cab driver asks if I am okay.I am not okay.I am sitting in the back of a yellow cab on a Tuesday afternoon in October with my palm still warm from Samuel’s hand and an anonymous text on my screen that has just turned my entire body to ice.*I saw you tw

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    I am lying underneath my husband.He is moving. I am pretending.That is the summary of my marriage in two sentences.Michael Thomas, wealthy, handsome, completely clueless who finishes in four minutes flat, rolls off me like I am a hotel pillow he has rearranged for comfort, and falls asleep befor

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