Chapter 1
On the twelfth anniversary of our relationship, Adam Durham's gift to me was a divorce agreement.
When the paper was pushed to the center of the dining table, I had finished serving the last bowl of soup.
"Camille, let's get divorced," Adam said without looking at me.
He took off his watch and set it down beside him, his voice so calm that it sounded like he was telling me about a meeting scheduled for tomorrow.
"I've fallen for Hattie," he continued.
My hand froze mid-air, soup spoon suspended, as I processed his words.
Rain was falling outside. Raindrops tapped against the window, close together and relentless.
On the table were four dishes and a soup, all his absolute favorites back when he was starting his business.
BBQ baby back ribs, grilled lemon-herb salmon, coleslaw, and roasted garlic asparagus.
Adam must've noticed it too. For a moment, he looked uneasy. "Today... I remember."
I set the soup down in front of him.
He continued, "We've been together for twelve years."
Five years of dating in college, seven years of marriage. Twelve years wasn't a short time.
That was enough for a guy who was so broke that he wouldn't turn on the AC in the hotel showroom to become an entrepreneur, who took Durhamide Hotels from nothing to its sixth branch.
It was also enough for someone who once couldn't let go of anything to learn to let go of everything.
I dried my hands and sat down across from him. "Have you made up your mind?"
Adam finally looked up.
He looked a bit taken aback that I didn't ask anything else.
He was silent for a few seconds and then nodded. "Yeah."
"When did this happen?" I asked.
His brow twitched slightly. "What?"
"The divorce." I looked at him. "When did you make up your mind?"
"Last week."
"Okay." I picked up the agreement.
Adam's face finally shifted. "You're not going to ask about Hattie?"
"Is there anything worth asking?" I flipped to the last page.
He'd already signed it. The signature was bold and confident.
It was obvious this wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision.
Adam's throat bobbed slightly. "Camille, I know this isn't fair to you."
"Yeah," I replied.
"The house is yours. Our joint savings will be split the way we agreed before. As for the hotel shares, my lawyer will calculate them based on the actual situation, and I'll make sure you get extra compensation."
"Alright."
"I'll explain things to both our parents."
"Good."
He spoke, and I responded.
The food on the table was getting cold, but the words Adam had prepared wouldn't come out.
Finally, he looked at me, like he couldn't hold it in anymore. "Camille, is there nothing you want to say to me?"
I thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, I do."
Adam's back stiffened.
I picked up the pen and signed my name at the bottom of the agreement. Then I slid the document back to him. "Ask the lawyer to go over the property details again. If everything's in order, we'll go with this."
Adam stared at my signature and was silent for a while.
I got up and started clearing away the dishes.
As I walked past him, he suddenly reached out and caught my wrist.
He was quick, like back then, whenever I got so caught up in work that I forgot to eat, he'd drag me away from my computer like this.
"Camille," Adam said.
I glanced down at his hand.
His fingers paused for a second, and then quickly let go. "You don't have to pretend."
"Pretend what?" I asked.
"Pretend like you don't care."
I almost laughed.
Turned out, in his eyes, my calm was nothing but a show.
"I'm not," I said flatly.
But Adam didn't buy it for a second. "If you're pissed off, yell at me. And if you think the compensation's not enough, say so. As for Hattie—"
"Adam," I interrupted. "I don't want to know."
His face froze for a second.
Instead of grilling him about when it started or what made Hattie so much better than me, my reaction and reply seemed to cut deeper.
But honestly, I didn't want to know.
Hattie Montgomery was twenty-six, a freelance photographer.
Last year, she started handling the brand imagery for Durhamide Hotels.
She was young, beautiful, and cheerful.
She loved film cameras, waiting for sunrise on mountaintops at dawn, and posting pictures of Adam from behind on her social media.
I'd known all this for a long time, but I never asked. Now, there was less point.
I picked up the plate and headed for the kitchen.
Adam suddenly spoke up, "And the Shoreline Branch."
I stopped. "What?"
"It's opening at the end of the month," he said like it was another thing on his to-do list. "There's still one more round of adjustments on-site, and you'll need to handle the final inspections.
"The divorce is between us. I don't want it messing with the project."
I looked at him.
That was when I finally realized why something felt off earlier.
Adam really believed that our marriage was over, but he thought everything else would stay the same.
He thought I'd still act like before. If he called me at 1 a.m. saying the lobby lighting was wrong, I'd throw on a coat and rush over.
If he suddenly wanted to change the guest room layout, I'd push back my own work to make it happen.
If a supplier screwed up, I'd lend him the connections I'd built over ten years.
Even if we had to make seven or eight rounds of changes outside the contract, I never really billed him for it.
Because he was my husband, there were a lot of things I never really counted.
And after a while, he forgot about it, too.