Chapter 1
After three years of marriage, David Lane was sent by his company to Southport.
He told me the project would last eighteen months, and he'd come back when it was over.
I agreed.
Every night, we video-called, and his background was always the plain white walls of his room. I never suspected anything until that day, when I flew to Southport early to surprise him.
He'd sent me his location before, and I remembered it.
It wasn't a hotel.
It was an apartment complex.
I stood at the entrance of the building, and when someone came out, I followed them inside.
On the sixth floor, the apartment on the left had two pairs of slippers by the door. One was for a man, and one was for a woman with a floral pattern.
I knew those men's slippers.
I got them for David's birthday last year.
I pulled out my phone and sent him a message. [Are you busy?]
A few seconds later, David replied: [I'm working overtime. I'll call you later.]
I stood at the door and heard someone talking inside.
The woman's voice was soft and way too familiar. It was Emily Price from David's team at work.
I had met her once at his company holiday party the year before. She had smiled and greeted me as she raised her glass for a toast.
"David, where's the salt?" Emily asked.
"The second jar to the left of the stove," David replied so naturally as if he'd been asked that countless times before.
I didn't knock, didn't confront him, and didn't cry.
As I stepped into the elevator, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. There was no emotion on my face at all.
The flight back to Northgate took two hours.
After landing, I did three things. I went to the bank and moved my share out of our joint account, went home and packed up a suitcase, and left a note on the table.
It read: [Let's get divorced. I'll have my lawyer send you the papers.]
I turned off my phone and changed my number.
From that day on, I vanished from David's world.
*****
Mom was out dancing when I called her.
"Divorce? What are you talking about?" she asked.
"I'm getting divorced from David," I said.
"Are you crazy?" she shouted.
I wasn't crazy. I finally saw the truth for what it was.
Mom took the overnight train from our hometown. When she walked in and saw me sitting alone in my rented place, eating a sandwich, she burst into tears. "What did he do to you? Tell me."
"He didn't really do anything. I can't live like this anymore," I replied.
"How can you give up like that? Is he seeing someone else?" she asked.
I didn't answer.
Mom got anxious. "Say something."
"Mom, I don't want to talk about him," I said.
Mom looked at me, silent for a long time.
She knew me too well. Ever since I was a kid, the deeper the hurt, the quieter I became.
The next day, my lawyer sent out the divorce papers.
On the third day, David called me forty-seven times. I had no idea how he got my new number.
I didn't answer a single call.
On the fourth day, he flew back to Northgate.
He knocked on Mom's door.
Mom opened the door and said, "Susan's not here."
"Mrs. Reed, please, let me see her," David begged.
"You know what you did. Don't come back," Mom said.
The door closed.
David stood in the hallway for three hours. I knew because I was inside the apartment.
Peeking through the peephole, I saw him huddled in the corner by the wall, his head buried in his hands.
I turned away and didn't spare him a second glance.
On the day we were supposed to sign the papers, David blocked me at the entrance of the courthouse. "Susan, what's wrong? Please, say something."
I looked at him.
His eyes were still gorgeous, his nose sharp, and he still looked heartbreakingly good in that white shirt.
But all I could think about was those floral slippers and the way Emily had asked, "Where is the salt?"
"It's all in the papers," I said.
"You're not going to tell me why? Is three years really worth a piece of paper?" he said.
I handed him the pen. "Sign it, and we'll both be free."
He wouldn't sign, his hands shaking. "Give me a reason."
"We're not compatible," I said.
He jerked his head up, disbelief all over his face. "Susan, please, you can yell at me, hit me, or anything, but don't shut me out like this."
I didn't say a word, waiting quietly.
After twenty minutes, he finally signed.
The moment the pen touched the paper, I heard something inside me break. But it didn't matter.
Clutching my divorce certificate, I walked out of the courthouse. Rain poured down, and I didn't bother with an umbrella. I trudged two blocks, soaked to the bone.
On the way, I texted my best friend, Joanne Carter: [I'm divorced.]
Joanne replied instantly: [I'll pick you up.]
Fifteen minutes later, she pulled up in front of me. I got in.
She didn't say a word. Instead, she handed me a pack of tissues. "Cry if you want."
"I'm not crying," I replied.
"Then let's go get drunk?"
"Sure."
That night, I drank so much that I ended up puking. I wiped my mouth, then said, "I'm leaving Northgate."
Joanne froze for a split second. "Where to?"
"Anywhere is okay, as long as it's far from here," I replied.