Chapter 4
Graham came home a little after eight the next morning carrying coffee and an apology.
"I handled last night badly."
I stood at the kitchen counter, still in my robe, and watched him set my usual cup in front of me.
That used to work.
Not because coffee solved anything, but because I had always been willing to meet him halfway before he even asked.
"I should've stayed for the presentation," he continued.
"I know that."
"Yes."
He seemed surprised by how easily I agreed.
"I'm sorry."
"I know."
His forehead creased.
"Okay."
I looked at the man I had married six years ago and realized he genuinely believed we were almost finished with the argument.
"I want a divorce."
The room went silent.
Graham stared at me.
"What?"
"I want a divorce."
He gave a short, disbelieving laugh.
"Claire, come on."
"I'm not joking."
"Because I missed one presentation?"
"No."
"Then because of Lydia."
"No."
His expression changed.
"You've been angry about her for months."
"I've been hurt for months. That isn't the same thing."
He stepped closer.
"Nothing is happening between Lydia and me."
"I didn't say it was."
"Then what exactly are you accusing me of?"
"That's the problem."
My voice stayed calm.
"You still think I need to prove you cheated before I'm allowed to be done."
His mouth tightened.
I continued before he could interrupt.
"This isn't about one night. It's every time something mattered to me and you decided I could handle being disappointed. Every time you said Lydia was having a hard time and assumed I would understand. Every time you promised to make it up to me because you were so sure there would always be a next time."
"I knew you would understand because you're not unreasonable."
There it was.
The sentence that had once sounded like trust.
Now it sounded like permission.
"You always knew I'd understand," I said.
"So you kept choosing the person who wouldn't."
"That's not fair."
"It's exactly what happened."
He dragged a hand through his hair.
"So what, you're ending our marriage because I helped a friend after a car accident?"
"She had a scratch on her car, Graham."
"She was scared."
"And I was standing ten minutes away from the biggest moment of my career asking my husband to stay."
He looked away.
For the first time, I saw that he understood the facts.
He simply still didn't understand why they were enough.
"We can fix this," he said.
A week ago, those words might have been what I wanted most.
Now I felt tired.
"I don't want another promise made because you finally believe I might leave."
His face went still.
"You're serious."
"Yes."
I walked upstairs before he could answer.
In the bedroom, I opened the bottom drawer.
The cream box waited exactly where I had left it.
I rested my hand on the lid.
For one terrible second, I almost carried it downstairs.
If I told him now, everything would change.
He would ask me to stay.
He would say we could be a family.
And I would never know whether he had chosen me or simply reacted to the child inside me.
I closed the drawer.
Then I picked up my phone, found the number I had saved before breakfast, and called a divorce attorney.