Chapter 3
The next few days passed quietly.
At least, that was what Harrison believed.
He kept kissing my forehead before work, asking whether I had slept, and reminding me to take care of myself as though nothing between us had changed.
Three days after our anniversary, Harrison arrived home before sunset carrying white roses.
“I have a surprise for you.”
He smiled as though the only thing he had done wrong was miss one dinner.
“I rebooked the French restaurant. Tonight, there will be no work and no calls. Just us.”
I looked at the flowers in his hands.
After 122 days of choosing another woman in secret, he was trying to patch over our marriage with flowers and another dinner reservation.
“Okay,” I said.
Relief softened his face.
He placed the flowers on the counter, then took a folder from his briefcase.
“Before we leave, can you look at this for me?”
It was the opening speech for Whitmore Group’s tenth-anniversary gala.
“You’re better with words than I am,” Harrison said. “It shouldn’t take you long.”
I flipped open the folder.
The speech began with the company’s first year—the freezing apartment, the unpaid bills, and the investor who had rejected Harrison four times before finally agreeing to meet him.
I remembered every detail.
I had lived through them.
Several paragraphs had been taken from speeches I had written for Harrison over the years.
At the top of the first page was a name.
Sabrina Parker.
Not Harrison’s.
Not mine.
Sabrina’s.
I read the name once.
Then I shut the folder.
I never asked why my memories were inside her speech.
I never asked whether she knew another woman had written the words she would deliver beneath the lights.
I already knew the answer that mattered.
Harrison believed my work belonged to him.
And whatever belonged to him could be given to her.
His phone rang before I could place the folder down.
Sabrina.
Harrison turned toward the window to answer.
I couldn’t hear everything she said, only that something had gone wrong with the anniversary presentation.
“I’ll come,” Harrison said.
He ended the call and reached for his keys.
“I’m sorry. Sabrina needs me at the office.”
“What about dinner?”
“I’ll make another reservation.”
“You said there would be no work tonight.”
“I know.” He touched my shoulder. “But this is important.”
I studied him for a moment.
Then I moved back from the door.
“Go.”
Relief crossed his face.
“Thank you for understanding.”
He kissed my forehead and pointed toward the folder.
“If you finish the speech, send it directly to Sabrina.”
The door shut at his back.
The white roses remained on the counter.
Beside them sat the speech containing my words beneath another woman’s name.
I didn’t open it again.
The divorce agreement was waiting on my desk.
I signed it.
Then I placed it on the dining table beside the ultrasound report.
I took off my wedding ring and set it on top of the papers.
On the back of the ultrasound report, I wrote:
I thought you would be the first person I told. I was wrong.
I packed the notebooks containing the speeches I had written for Harrison and placed them inside my suitcase.
I didn’t delete his files.
I didn’t ruin the gala.
I simply stopped finishing his work.
Then I picked up my suitcase and walked to the door.
Harrison had spent 122 days making room for Sabrina inside our marriage.
Tonight, he had asked me to help her take my place.
I left the speech exactly as she had written it.
This time, they would have to find their own words.