Chapter 3

I started with the kitchen.

I photographed the appliances, the dining table and the contents of each cabinet. Then I moved through the rest of the house, recording the furniture and anything Adam and I had purchased together.

The process felt strangely impersonal until I reached the refrigerator.

A calendar hung beneath a magnet from our honeymoon. Every birthday and family dinner was written in my handwriting. Diane’s doctor appointment was marked in blue. Lauren’s anniversary was circled in red.

Adam’s schedule was there too.

Mine wasn’t.

I photographed the calendar and continued.

At work that afternoon, my coworker Jenna approached me in the break room with her phone in her hand.

“I thought you’d be in Hawaii with Adam.”

Lauren had posted a photograph of everyone raising glasses around a table overlooking the ocean.

The caption read:

Nothing better than being with the people who always show up for family.

Someone had asked about me in the comments.

Lauren replied:

Claire prefers staying home. Big family trips aren’t really her thing.

“I wasn’t invited,” I said.

Jenna’s expression changed.

“Oh.”

That was all she said.

She didn’t know anything about my marriage, yet she understood immediately. No explanation about work or vacation days made the situation sound normal once the truth was spoken plainly.

After she left, I took screenshots of the post and Lauren’s reply.

A message from Adam arrived before my lunch break ended.

He had sent a photograph of the same dinner from another angle.

Mom says you’re ignoring Lauren. Can you please stop making this awkward while we’re away?

Lauren had publicly lied about me, but Adam was still asking me to protect her feelings.

I saved his message with the other screenshots.

Then I put my phone away and returned to work.

Maya met me at the house that evening.

We packed my passport, birth certificate, work documents and the jewelry my mother had left me. I added the photographs I owned before the marriage and a few other personal items that had never belonged to Adam.

Maya taped the first box shut.

“Does he know?”

“He thinks I’m waiting for him.”

She nodded and lifted the box without asking anything else.

After we placed everything in her car, she drove me to see a furnished apartment near the clinic.

It had one bedroom, a narrow kitchen and a living-room window facing the parking lot. The couch was gray, the dishes didn’t match and the bedroom lamp leaned slightly to one side.

I checked the lock on the front door twice.

The property manager handed me a short-term lease. I read every page before signing it.

Then she placed a single silver key in my hand.

On the way back to Maya’s car, my lawyer emailed the first draft of the divorce petition.

I opened it from the passenger seat.

My name appeared beside Adam’s at the top. Beneath it were the date of our marriage, the address of our house and the first formal description of the life we had shared for nine years.

Reduced to paper, the marriage looked surprisingly simple.

I read the draft twice and replied:

I’ve received it. I’ll confirm when I’m ready to file.

That night, I returned to the apartment with one suitcase and the first box from Maya’s car.

As I placed the key on the kitchen counter, my phone lit up with another post from Lauren.

This one showed the family standing on the beach.

Exactly where we belong.

I turned the phone facedown.

Then I opened the box.