Chapter 4

Evan came home at four in the morning.

He walked across the hardwood without his shoes, slipping into the bedroom like a shadow.

He pulled the edge of the duvet over my shoulder, leaned down, and rested his forehead against the small of my back for a few quiet breaths before lying down.

I kept my breathing slow, pretending the dark room was enough to hide behind.

I watched the red digits of the clock change until they read 6:58.

By then, I knew that staying would mean making room for them again.

At seven, the alarm went off.

Evan kissed my cheek on his way out the door, his gym bag already over his shoulder.

"Three private clients back-to-back," he said. "I'll wrap up early and bring dinner. Rest your legs today."

"I will," I told him.

The moment the garage door rolled shut, I used the house phone. I didn't want the call appearing on the shared mobile account.

My first call was to the maternity hospital near my mother's house, forty miles west.

I confirmed the transfer of my prenatal records, confirmed the local admitting doctor, and scheduled my thirty-four-week ultrasound for Thursday morning.

My second call was to the attorney's office to confirm the courier delivery of my financial disclosures and separation petition.

We documented what I had built before the wedding and the copyrights attached to every unreleased design.

Then I called Nora.

She answered on the first ring.

"Claire?"

"Nora," I said. "I'm leaving today. Can you bring the wagon?"

She didn't ask what happened.

"Give me forty minutes," Nora said.

By nine thirty, Nora's crossover was backed into our closed garage.

Nora and I packed in silence.

I loaded four suitcases of my own clothes.

I loaded my drawing monitors, my hard drives, my gem testing kit, and every unreleased sketchbook from my desk.

I loaded my medical charts, the vitamins I bought myself, and the birth documents.

For one sharp second, I could not find the folder with my transfer confirmation. My hands went cold. Then Nora found it wedged beneath a stack of invoices on my desk.

Then I loaded the infant seat and the stroller base I had purchased under my own credit card.

Finally, I walked down the hall into the nursery.

The crib was built. The dresser was stocked.

Draped over the armrest of the rocker was Harper's canvas training belt, left behind when she helped Evan move the crib up the stairs two weeks ago.

It stayed where it was.

From the bassinet, I picked up the half-knitted baby blanket.

It was pale lilac, spun from raw merino wool, with the bamboo needles still anchored in the yarn. I had worked on it through the late nights after my transfers, row by row, when the house was quiet.

I tucked the needles in, wrapped the wool in tissue paper, and set it into the top pocket of the hospital go-bag.

I left the diamond bracelet Evan had given me for our third anniversary on the kitchen island.

At quarter to four, Nora closed the trunk.

"That's everything?" Nora asked, checking the side mirrors.

"That's everything that belongs to her and me," I said. "Everything that still has a future."

We pulled out of the driveway, and the garage door hummed shut.

I didn't know Evan had traded the rest of his shift. I didn't know he was already driving home with dinner and a box of tiny running shoes on the passenger seat.

He thought he was coming home to apologize. He had no idea the house would answer him first.