Chapter 1

When Maren set the divorce papers on the dining table, I was replying to Blaire Dalton.

Blaire said the figures on the final slide for that afternoon's client presentation were still wrong. She sent a crying emoji, followed by another message.

"Mr. Mercer, rescue me. I seriously can't do this without you."

I had just typed, "Don't panic. I've got you," when Maren slid a pen across the table.

"Sign them," she said.

I did not pick up the pen. I flipped through the agreement first.

She was leaving me the house. All she wanted was the money she had saved before our marriage and the portion she had earned over the past few years.

She did not even ask for the living room furniture she had spent three months choosing. The attachment listed only her camera, her books, and a jewelry box her mother had given her.

This was not the kind of agreement someone used as a threat.

It was too complete. It looked as if she had already planned every day of a life in which I no longer existed.

My first reaction was not fear.

It was resentment.

"What is this supposed to mean, leaving me the house?" I asked. "Do you want me to feel like I drove you out?"

"I don't want to fight you for one more thing in this marriage," Maren said.

She placed her wedding ring beside the papers. The metal made a faint sound against the tabletop.

It suddenly occurred to me that she had not worn it for a while. I had simply failed to notice until that moment.

When I saw the words "dissolution of marriage," I assumed she was pressuring me again.

For the past year, nearly every fight we had was about Blaire. Every time Maren asked what Blaire and I really were, I gave her the same answer.

"She's just my coworker."

I had said it so many times that I had begun to believe the sentence was the same thing as the truth.

I turned my phone facedown.

"Nothing happened between us."

I even started listing evidence.

We had never kissed. We had never booked a hotel room. I had never told Blaire I loved her. Every business expense had a receipt, and other colleagues had been present on every trip.

Like a defense attorney who knew every loophole, I carved away the ugliest parts of my marriage and kept only what could make me legally innocent.

Maren asked, "Then why did you delete your messages?"

"Because I knew you'd see them and misunderstand."

"Why wouldn't you invite her to our home? Why does she know about my miscarriage? Why does she know about our fights, and that you said you didn't want children? Why does everyone at work call you two husband and wife while I have to prove I'm not petty?"

An answer rose in my mind after every question.

I said none of them.

Instead, I grabbed the easiest detail to attack.

"You went through my phone?"

Maren gave a small laugh. There was no warmth in it.

"Julian, listen to yourself. I'm asking about our marriage, and all you care about is who touched your phone."

Embarrassment turned into anger. I told her that if she had already decided I was a cheater, there was no point talking.

She did not argue. She only pushed the papers closer.

Much later, I understood that she no longer needed my defense.

Those questions had been one final test. When forced to choose between her pain and my image as a decent man, I would still choose my image without hesitation.

My phone vibrated on the table.

I did not turn it over, but both of us knew who had sent the message.

"Do you know what the most ridiculous part is?" Maren asked.

I said nothing.

"I'm talking to you about divorce, and you're still thinking about her message."

I denied it immediately, but my eyes had already lingered on the phone for too long.

"Maren, stop being unreasonable. She's just my coworker."

Maren glanced at the phone. She did not look as angry as I expected.

She only asked softly, "After all this, is that still the only thing you can think to say?"

I had no answer.

She got up and went into the bedroom to continue packing.

I turned to the last page of the agreement. Beside Maren's signature, I saw the date.

Six months ago.

She had not decided to leave me that day.

That was only the day she finally told me.