Chapter 3

The tenth day after the move was my three-year anniversary with Adam.

A week ahead, I booked the nicest restaurant downtown. Time, address, seven o'clock sharp. I sent him every detail, and at four that afternoon he shot back a "Got it."

I arrived at seven. Seven-thirty came and went, and by eight forty he still had not shown up.

For three years, Adam had been very good at playing the gentle, attentive protector. When Leah's migraines hit, he would drive across town for her medication and bring it to her door. When Ethan and my father argued, he soothed both sides and smoothed it over. Whenever anyone around him had trouble, he was the first to step up and take care of it.

Except when it was my turn. I was always the one who could be set aside, given up on, brushed off. His gentleness and consideration ran on a priority list, and I was always last.

Outside the restaurant window the streetlights came on one by one, warm yellow spilling down the block. I remembered that two weeks earlier Professor Grant had invited me to an online project briefing, and the time had fallen exactly on the kickoff dinner for Leah's show.

Susan's tone at the time left no room for discussion. "It's a remote meeting. You can move it any time. This is Leah's first time getting into a real design show. The whole family has to be there for her."

I wanted to argue, to explain how much the meeting mattered, but Leah cut in and I never got it out.

So I gave in and moved the meeting myself. An engineer at the research center a thousand miles away logged on at six in the morning to work around my schedule, test the equipment, and restart the video conference.

Back then Adam still cared. He looked after me, warmed milk for me, and offered small gestures of tenderness. Now even those were gone.

At nine thirty, my phone, silent for hours, finally lit up with a message from Adam.

He said Leah had fallen apart around the anniversary of her father's death, that she was not herself, and he had not been able to leave her alone, so he had taken her out to the lake where it happened to clear her head.

I paid for both meals and walked out of the restaurant alone.

Early the next morning Adam came through the door with an armful of small white flowers. My first thought was that he had come to apologize for standing me up and make it right.

But he walked right past me and set the flowers down in front of Thomas Morgan's memorial photograph, careful and reverent.

"Do you remember what yesterday was?" I looked straight at him and asked quietly.

His body went rigid.

After a moment he said, low, "I remember. But these are Leah’s hardest, most vulnerable days every year, so she needs far more company. You've always been reasonable. I know you'd understand."

"I can accept that you stayed with her," I said, every word clear as I cut to the center of it. "But you made me a promise. We planned an anniversary date, and then you let me sit in a restaurant alone until it closed without one phone call to explain."

Ethan came out of the kitchen, impatient and openly taking sides. "Uncle Thomas died saving me. Looking after Leah is all of our responsibility. When did you get so petty?"

"How does looking after her prevent you from keeping your promises to me or treating me as though I matter? Why does it always have to be one or the other?" I shot back.

Adam's brow furrowed, and there was a note of reproach in his voice, like I was making a scene out of nothing. "Nora, stop treating everyone's effort and attention like a competition. Leah has never thought that way. We're your family, we always will be, and we'll always love you. Why would you say something that hurts like that?

"You're so understanding about everything else. Why can't you be a little more understanding about Leah?"

Every judgment he made about me rested on the same fixed idea. Nora will not leave. Nora is the reasonable one. Nora will always understand and make room for everyone, no matter what.

I went back down to the cold basement, changed his contact name from the pet name back to his full name, put the house key in an envelope, and set it gently in the kitchen drawer.

I sent one short message and ended the relationship for good. "Let's break up."

He answered fast, with his usual air of indifference. "We'll talk properly when you've calmed down. Don't do anything rash. I'll make it up to you."

I did not write back. Whatever warmth I had left had been used up long ago, in all the times I gave way and all the times he put me off.