CHAPTER 10

The phone rang while Elena was washing paintbrushes in the sink.

She dried her hands on her apron and looked at the screen. It was Mr. Grant, the lawyer she had met on the day she left.

"Mrs. Hart," he said. He called her that now, because she had asked him to. "I am sorry to call so early. I have news about your husband."

Elena sat down slowly on the edge of the bed. "Has he signed?"

"No."

She closed her eyes.

"His lawyer called me yesterday. His name is Mr. Lowell, and he is very good, and very polite. He said Mr. Blackwood needs more time. He said that with your health problems, it would not be right to rush such a serious matter."

"My health problems?"

"It is what he told the press. He is using it now to slow us down. A husband cannot sign divorce papers while his wife is ill and far away. Or so he says."

Elena stared at the yellow wall. She felt a slow, hot anger rise in her chest.

Ill. Far away. He had said it on television, in front of the whole country, and now he was using his own lie as a door to keep her inside.

"How long can he do this?" she asked.

"A few weeks. Maybe a few months. If he really wants to stall, he can find reasons for a long time."

"Then what do I do?"

"You wait, and you stay quiet. And you do not contact him. I will push from my side." Mr. Grant paused. "Mrs. Hart, may I ask something? Your husband has never refused you anything before. Why do you think he is doing this?"

Elena thought of the big silent house and the closed bathroom door and the way Adrian never once reached for her hand.

"I do not know," she said. "I have never known why he does anything."

She hung up and sat for a long time with the phone in her lap.

Across the city, Adrian stood at the window of his office on the fortieth floor. He did not see the view. He saw a note written in neat handwriting, and he heard one sentence over and over in his head.

I knew you were hiding something from me.

The sketchbook lay in the top drawer of his desk. He had not shown it to anyone. He had not told Marcus, or his mother, or Sophia. Twice that week he had taken it out and put it back. Once he had read the note six times in a row.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Come in."

Marcus walked in with a thin folder. He looked tired. He had looked tired for days.

"Sir. I have the latest report."

"Tell me."

"We have checked every hotel, every train line, and every bus route out of the city. We have called her college friends and her old art teacher. We even spoke to her family, carefully, and they said they have not heard from her. They think she is traveling for her health."

"They believe the story."

"Yes, sir. Everyone does." Marcus hesitated. "Sir, it is as if she disappeared from the earth. Mrs. Blackwood is smarter than we thought."

Adrian said nothing. He had been thinking the same thing.

A week ago, if someone had asked him to describe his wife, he would have said she was quiet. Polite. Easy to forget. Now he sat at his desk and could not stop thinking about the girl who destroyed a phone card so no one could find her.

"Keep looking," he said.

"Yes, sir."

Marcus left. Adrian opened the drawer, looked at the sketchbook, and closed it again.

That evening at home, the dining table was full.

Victoria sat at one end in a dark green dress. Sophia sat beside her. Audrey and Isabelle were there too, laughing about something one of their friends had said. Mrs. Carter moved quietly around the room, putting down plates.

Adrian took his seat and looked at the empty chair that used to be Elena's.

No one had moved it. It stood there at the side of the table, pushed in neatly, as if she might walk in at any moment.

"Adrian," Victoria said. "Mr. Lowell told me you have still not signed the papers."

"That is correct."

"Why not?"

"The timing is not right."

"The timing?" Victoria set down her fork. "She left you. She asked for a divorce. She disappeared like a thief in the night. What other timing do you need?"

Sophia placed a gentle hand on Victoria's arm. "Aunt Victoria, please. It is not easy for him."

"Of course it is easy. He only has to sign his name."

"Mother," Adrian said quietly.

"I do not understand you. You are the head of this family. You are not a boy. A girl from a poor home walks out on you, and you chase her like a lost puppy?"

Adrian put down his glass.

"I am not chasing anyone."

"Then sign the papers."

"I will sign them when I am ready."

The table went silent. Audrey and Isabelle looked at their plates. Mrs. Carter stopped moving.

Sophia turned to him, her eyes soft. "Adrian, I know this is hard. But your mother is only worried about you. Everyone wants you to be happy."

He looked at her. She was so calm, so graceful. For a moment, the way she said the word happy made something inside him go cold.

"I know what everyone wants," he said.

He stood up, pushed in his chair, and left the room.

In the corridor, Mrs. Carter caught up with him. She spoke so softly he almost did not hear her.

"Sir, may I say something?"

"Go ahead."

"She was never any trouble to this house, sir. Not once. She only wanted a little kindness."

Adrian looked at her. For a second, he almost said something. Then his face closed like a door.

"Thank you, Mrs. Carter. That will be all."

She bowed her head and walked away.

Three days later, Elena sat with Chloe on the grass in the college courtyard. The sun was warm. Students lay about in small groups, eating and drawing and laughing.

Chloe was halfway through a sandwich when she stopped chewing.

"You are quiet today," she said. "More quiet than usual."

Elena picked at a blade of grass. She did not know how much to say. She had hidden the truth for so long that it felt like a coat she could not take off.

But Chloe had given her a room and noodles and a job. Chloe deserved a little of the truth.

"I am going through a divorce," Elena said.

Chloe put down her sandwich very slowly.

"My husband will not sign the papers," Elena went on. "I do not want to talk about who he is. I cannot. But he is making it hard."

For a moment, Chloe said nothing. Then she moved across the grass and wrapped both arms around Elena, sandwich crumbs and all.

"I am so sorry," she whispered into her hair. "I will not ask anything. I will not tell anyone. Not even Mrs. Park."

Elena's throat tightened. "Thank you."

"And if he ever shows up, I will hit him with my paint box."

Elena laughed into her shoulder. It was a wet, shaky laugh, but it was real.

That night, at the café, her phone buzzed in her apron pocket. She stepped into the back and saw Mr. Grant's name.

"Mrs. Hart. I have just received an offer from Mr. Lowell."

"An offer?"

"A settlement. Please listen carefully. Mr. Blackwood will give you half of everything the Blackwood family owns. His shares, his properties, his accounts. Half."

Elena nearly dropped the phone.

"There is one condition," Mr. Grant said. "You must return home, and you must remain his wife for one more year."

She let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Mr. Grant, I do not want his money. I never did. Please tell him no."

"I will. But Mrs. Hart, before I do, there is something I need to say." His voice was careful. "In thirty years of practice, I have never seen a man like this. A husband who wants a divorce does not offer half his fortune to keep his wife. And a husband who does not care does not ask for one more year."

"What are you saying?"

Mr. Grant was quiet for a long moment.

"I am saying that I do not think he is afraid of losing you," he said. "I think he is afraid of losing something else. And I think you are the only person who can stop it.”