Chapter 2 - THE DOCUMENT IN THE DRAWER
Adrien saw me read it.
“What now?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re upset. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
“You don’t get to schedule this.”
He rubbed his forehead, already tired of the consequences of his own choices.
“Clare needed someone there.”
“She had a room full of people.”
“She needed me.”
There it was.
No apology could make that sentence smaller.
I went upstairs.
He followed me to the bedroom and stopped when I pulled a suitcase from the closet.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
I folded a sweater.
“Where are you going?”
“Somewhere I won’t have to ask whether my husband remembers we’re married.”
“You’re leaving over a necklace?”
I looked up.
“No. I’m leaving because you think that’s what happened.”
His jaw tightened.
“Take the guest room. We’ll work this out in the morning.”
I packed my medication beneath a pair of socks.
My passport.
My wallet.
The little ultrasound picture I had kept out of the cake.
Adrien watched me put my wedding ring on the dresser.
“Put that back on.”
I zipped the suitcase.
He moved into the doorway.
For a second, we stared at each other.
Then I said, “Move.”
He stepped aside.
Downstairs, Martha stood in the kitchen wearing a cardigan over her nightclothes.
Her eyes went to my suitcase.
“Mrs. Cole?”
“Please throw away dinner.”
“And the cake?”
“I’ll take what’s inside.”
She didn’t ask.
I lifted the lid, cut into the buttercream, and pulled out the plastic box.
The note was spotless.
That hurt more than I expected.
Martha handed me a paper towel.
“Your husband’s driver?”
“I ordered a car.”
She nodded toward the small desk off the hallway.
“The documents from Tuesday are still in the bottom drawer. Mr. Cole asked me to leave them there.”
I set down the cake box.
Tuesday.
Adrien had caught me between a work call and a doctor’s appointment.
Routine estate paperwork, he’d said.
Just updating the records.
I opened the drawer.
The top page had a title I barely understood.
Spousal Acknowledgment and Waiver.
My signature sat at the bottom.
But the page behind it was one I had never seen.
It authorized the sale of my ownership interest in Mercer House.
My grandmother’s building.
The one she had left me before I married him.
I turned another page.
The proposed buyer was a company called Bennett Urban Holdings.
My phone buzzed again.
DON’T CONFRONT HIM ABOUT THE PAPERS ALONE.
May you like
Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.
Adrien was coming down.
