Chapter 2

At two that afternoon, the doorbell rang.

Two movers in black uniforms stood outside. Behind them was Thomas Reid, Gabriel's assistant, who'd been put in charge of Vivian's homecoming.

Thomas had a tablet in his hand. When I opened the door, he didn't even bother saying hello. He just walked straight past me into the entryway. "Ms. Linden, Mr. Moretti asked that Vivian's seven travel trunks be put in the master closet ahead of time. Also, these paintings in the living room..."

He pointed at the gray-toned oil paintings on the wall. "Vivian likes big, bright blocks of color. Mr. Moretti said these gloomy little practice pieces can just go."

They weren't practice pieces.

Last year, Gabriel had been hospitalized for a severe gallbladder attack. I spent two full weeks outside his room praying for him, and every morning at dawn, I painted the sunrise. In the bottom right corner of each one, our initials were hidden in the brushwork.

When he came home, he touched the dark circles under my eyes and said hoarsely, "Hang them in the living room. That way they'll be the first thing I see every morning when I come downstairs."

The movers worked fast. Their white-gloved hands lifted the frames right off the wall.

A metal hook tore across the wallpaper with a harsh screech.

"Careful!" Before I could stop myself, I stepped forward and put a hand on the frame in the middle.

Thomas pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses. "Ms. Linden, Mr. Moretti's instructions were to redo everything to Vivian's taste today. If you're attached to these paintings, you can take them to the West Side apartment. Although Mr. Moretti did mention that the walls there had just been painted, so he wouldn't recommend hanging anything heavy."

My knuckles went white on the frame.

"This is my home." I looked Thomas right in the eye.

"Technically, this property is held in a trust for Mr. Moretti's sole benefit." Thomas swiped at his tablet, his face blank. "You signed the prenup yourself three years ago. You know perfectly well that legally, you can't even stop us from changing the locks."

I let go.

The movers shoved the frame into rough bubble wrap and wound clear tape around it, loop after careless loop.

The rasp of the tape grated on my ears.

Then Gabriel called.

I picked up. Before I could say anything, his low voice came through over the din of airport announcements. "Is Thomas there?"

"He's here." I looked at the moving boxes all over the floor. My voice was strangely calm.

There was a pause on the line, as if he hadn't expected me to skip the usual update.

"Vivian moved her flight up." Gabriel's voice was low, with a tension he rarely let show. "Her private jet hit bad turbulence and was diverted to Paris. She's been stuck there for two hours, and she's shaken up. I'm on a plane to Charles de Gaulle right now to bring her home."

He'd gone out of his way to call me just to say he was flying to Paris to get her.

"Really," I said.

"Vera, the housekeeper left some low-fat meals in the fridge at the West Side place. You've got a sensitive stomach, so don't eat junk while you're out." He paused, and the old habit of looking after me crept into his voice. "If there's anything in the master bedroom you can't take, leave it in the guest room closet. Nobody will touch it."

"I've already packed."

"Good." He was clearly relieved. In the background, a chime announced the cabin door closing. "Be good. Once she's settled, I'll take you to that sushi place you like this weekend."

After he hung up, an absurd thought crossed my mind.

Are the two of them going off to have sex?

Then it hit me. In three years, he'd never let us have a child.

Every time we slept together, there was a glass of water and a birth control pill waiting on the nightstand afterward. He'd watch until I swallowed it, then tuck the covers around me and kiss my forehead.

He thought he hid it well.

He thought I didn't know it wasn't tenderness at all. It was the most careful kind of precaution.

He was afraid I'd get pregnant and trap him with a baby. Most of all, he was afraid that when Vivian came back, he wouldn't be able to welcome her home with a clean slate.

"Ms. Linden, Vivian's luggage is here. Please sign for it." Thomas held out a stylus.

I looked down.

The recipients listed on the screen were "Gabriel Moretti & Vivian Linden."

There was no room for me.

I took the stylus, signed my name in the blank space, and picked up the suitcase at my feet.

Thomas blinked. "You're leaving now? Mr. Moretti said the driver would take you."

"No need."

I wheeled my suitcase out the door.

On the way down, the elevator mirror showed me my own pale face. No tears. Not even pain. Just the empty exhaustion of finally reaching the end of a very long road.

When I walked out of the lobby, the cold early-fall wind hit me in the face.

I hailed a cab and gave the driver the name of a cheap, nondescript hotel downtown.

Once I was in the car, I took a brand-new prepaid SIM card out of my bag and swapped out the one I'd had for ten years.

The second the old card came out, I left every unread message and missed call behind for good.