Chapter 1 - THE EMPTY SPACE ON THE PLATE
My husband slapped me because his brother didn’t have mashed potatoes.
Thirteen days earlier, Daniel Carter had held my hands at the altar and promised to honor me. Now he stood at his parents’ dinner table, waiting for me to apologize.
“You hit me,” I said.
His mother, Margaret, lifted her wineglass. “Maybe now she’ll learn.”
Eight people sat around the table. Nobody came to my side. Daniel’s younger brother Michael looked down at his plate—roast beef, carrots, green beans, and a dinner roll—and smirked at the bare spot beside them.
“Emily,” Daniel said, “sit down.”
My cheek burned. “You hit me.”
“Don’t make a scene.”
I looked at his father, Richard. He kept his eyes on his plate. Across from him, Daniel’s aunt slowly folded her napkin. Everyone seemed to know what would happen next. They expected me to lower my head, fill Michael’s plate, and make dinner comfortable again.
Daniel pointed toward my chair. “Apologize to my brother.”
Michael shrugged. “You did forget.”
I set the serving spoon down. The small sound it made against the dish seemed to reach every corner of the room.
Then I gripped the edge of the table.
Daniel frowned. “What are you doing?”
I pulled.
Silverware slid. Glasses toppled. I shoved again, and the heavy table tipped toward Daniel. Plates shattered across the floor. Red wine splashed his jacket. The bowl of mashed potatoes landed in Michael’s lap.
Margaret screamed.
Daniel lunged forward, then stopped when I raised my hand.
“Don’t touch me again,” I said.
His eyes dropped to my wedding ring. Thirteen tiny diamonds circled the band. He had told me at the jewelry store that they looked like stars.
I took the ring off and laid it on the tilted table.
“You wanted to teach me something tonight,” I told him. “You taught me exactly who I married.”
I picked up my purse.
“If you walk out,” Daniel said, “don’t expect me to come begging.”
“That’s the first good news you’ve given me.”
I drove straight to my best friend Rachel’s apartment. She opened the door in pajamas, saw my face, and went still.
“Daniel?”
I nodded.
“Come inside.”
Ten minutes later, while Rachel held a cold towel against my cheek, my phone lit up with a message from an unfamiliar number.
Emily, this is Richard. Daniel’s father. There’s something you need to see before tomorrow. Don’t tell Daniel I contacted you.
A photograph arrived.
At the top of the page were the words POSTNUPTIAL PROPERTY TRANSFER AGREEMENT.
At the bottom was my signature.
May you like
Except I had never signed it.
And beside it was tomorrow’s date.
