Chapter 2

Ethan handed the baby to the woman in ivory and came straight at me.

"Downstairs," he said without touching me. "Now."

I stayed where I was long enough to see the woman press her cheek to Oliver's hair. Then Ethan moved between us, blocking my view, and guided me toward the lower deck with one hand hovering at my back.

He did not touch me. He knew better with so many phones pointed our way.

Wind rushed through the open passenger deck below. The city lights had begun to sharpen across the water. I gripped the cold rail until the ferry stopped tilting beneath me.

"You need to leave Vanessa and the baby alone," Ethan said. "Oliver doesn't deserve to be frightened because you're upset."

"How old is he?"

"Claire."

"How old is your son?"

He pushed a hand through his hair. His wedding ring was gone, but a pale band circled the base of his finger. He had worn it at breakfast.

"This isn't how I wanted you to find out."

"You didn't want me to find out."

The stairwell door opened behind him.

Vanessa stepped onto the deck with Oliver in her arms. Up close, she looked less triumphant than she had beside the microphone. Her gaze moved from my ring to the mark on Ethan's finger.

"You said she knew," she told him.

Ethan glanced toward the passengers at the far end of the deck. "Not here."

Vanessa ignored him. "You said the only reason she hadn't signed was because her doctors told you not to push her."

For one second, something like uncertainty crossed her face. Then she lifted her chin and pulled Oliver closer, as if my shock threatened the life she had built.

"He lives with us," she said to me. "He comes Thursday night and leaves Monday morning. He makes coffee at six-ten because the grinder wakes the baby. This isn't some affair he fits into lunch breaks. That's his home."

She wanted the words to hurt me. More than that, she wanted Ethan to deny them if they were not true.

He said nothing.

I released the rail and opened the Notes app on my phone. My hands were still trembling, but the screen steadied when I braced it against my palm.

Thursday through Monday.

"How old is Oliver?" I asked again.

Vanessa looked at Ethan before answering. "Ten months."

I counted backward.

Ten months since his birth. Nine months before that, Ethan and I had been driving two hours each way to a fertility clinic. He had held my hand beneath a paper sheet and told me that whatever happened, we were in it together.

On Thursdays, he had started sleeping in the guest room because he claimed my injections made me restless.

My stomach folded in on itself.

The stairwell door opened again. Ethan's mother stepped through, carrying neither coat nor apology.

"Did you know about him?" I asked her.

Her eyes flicked toward Oliver. "Ethan told us the marriage was over. You're both adults. I wasn't going to involve myself in things that were none of my business."

"But this party was your business."

Her mouth tightened.

Vanessa shifted the baby higher against her shoulder. "Call it whatever you want, Claire. When Ethan says he's going home, he means our apartment."

I looked at my husband.

He did not deny that either.

"What was I supposed to sign?" I asked.

Vanessa frowned. "The separation agreement. Ethan said it had been sitting with your lawyer since before Oliver was born."

The wind lifted my hair across my mouth. I pulled it away slowly, watching Ethan's face.

I had never hired a lawyer.