All Chapters of Divorce Suits Me Better: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

(Sabrina’s POV)We didn’t make it to the second gas station.We made it about ten minutes before the conversation stopped being about crosswords and gas stations and started being about everything else.“You never talked to me,” I said. I didn’t plan to say it. It just came up out of me, somewhere on a dark road in the rain with the wipers going and his profile lit by the dashboard.“Three years of marriage and you never once asked me what I was thinking. You talked AT me. You talked ABOUT me to other people. You talked to your phone and your laptop and Reed and your board and your grandmother. But you never talked TO me.”His hands tightened on the wheel.“When I made you dinner, you ate it and went back to work. When I dressed up for your events, you introduced me as ‘my wife’ and then left me standing alone with people who didn’t know my name. When I asked you about your day, you said ‘fine’ and opened your laptop. Three years, Nate. Three years of ‘fine.’ Three years of eating al

(Nate’s POV)The hospital chair had a divot in the cushion that lined up perfectly with my tailbone. I’d been sitting in it for three hours, and I could feel every minute in my lower back.Alexis was asleep. Or pretending to be asleep. I couldn’t tell anymore.Mara sat in the corner, scrolling through her phone. She’d stopped crying about an hour ago. Now she was just watching me watch Alexis, her thumb flicking up, up, up through whatever feed she was consuming.“The doctor said she’s stable,” I said.“Yes,” she said plainly.I looked at her. She looked back. There was something in her face I didn’t like, like she was waiting for me to say something I wasn’t supposed to say.Mara went back to her phone.The door opened. A nurse came in with a tablet, checked the IV, checked the monitor, made a note. She did all of this without looking at me.“She can be discharged in the morning,” she said. “Doctor wants to keep her overnight for observation, but vitals are good. No complications.”“

(Sabrina’s POV)Three cranes stood against a white sky and none of them were moving.I parked at the chain-link perimeter and sat for a moment with my hands on the wheel.I’d worn jeans and a jacket that could handle dirt. I’d spent an hour in front of the mirror telling myself this was just a site visit, just a structural inspection, just another day of work.I hadn’t told myself not to think about him. That would have been a waste of breath.Eric had been clear: Atwood Holdings required a board observer on-site for any structural flag. The insurance policy was explicit. Someone from the owning entity had to see the problem with their own eyes before they’d sign off on repairs.“Sabrina,” he’d said, “you’re going.”I hadn’t argued. It was my project now. My name was on the paperwork. If the foundation was cracking, I needed to see it.I walked toward the site office. A trailer with a battered door and a sign that read FRANK DIAZ, SITE FOREMAN in faded letters.The door opened before

(Sabrina’s POV)Reed walked in looking like a man who hadn’t slept since I called him about March fifteenth.His suit was wrong. The jacket hung off his shoulders like he’d lost weight he couldn’t afford to lose. His tie was crooked. His eyes had that glassy, unfocused quality that comes from too much caffeine and not enough food.He sat down across from me. He put his hands on the table. He didn’t try to shake mine.Tyler sat beside me. His tablet was open.“March fifteenth,” I said. “Eighteen months ago. The mix change.”Reed looked at me and closed his eyes, nodding. “I approved the mix change.”“Using Nate’s credentials.”“Yes.”“Because you were paid.”He nodded. “Fifteen thousand.”“Who paid you?”He pressed his palms flat on the table. “A woman. She knew my mother was in a long-term care facility and the bills were drowning me.”“What woman?”“I don’t know her name.”“Bullshit.”I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t have to. Reed flinched anyway.“I don’t—” he started.“Reed.” I le

(Sabrina’s POV)Adrian had made me take the afternoon off.“You’ve been working constantly for three weeks,” he’d said, standing in my office doorway with his arms crossed. “The baby needs you to sit down and eat something that isn’t a protein bar.”I’d argued. He’d stood there. I’d lost.So here I was. A café in the West Village with floor-to-ceiling windows and marble tables. Decaf latte in front of me. A pastry plate that had already seen two croissants and was working on a third.The baby wanted sugar constantly. I’d stopped fighting it.Diana and Karlie sat across from me, both looking sharp and svelte. They’d been on charity boards since before I knew what a charity board was. We’d met through Holdings—Diana’s husband was a developer, Karlie ran a foundation. They’d absorbed me into their orbit without making it feel like a project.“—and then he said the tile wasn’t in stock, which I know is a lie because I called the showroom myself,” Diana finished. “So I fired him. On a Tues