Chapter 2
I didn't confront Daniel right away.
After seeing those messages, the first person I questioned was myself.
Maybe he was right.
Maybe I'd been so busy all these years that I'd focused on fixing every problem and forgotten that a family needed more than that.
So the next afternoon, I canceled two meetings and came home at five-thirty. For the first time in years, I roasted a whole chicken the way Daniel had once taught me.
By six-forty, the skin was a little too dark.
At seven, Daniel texted me.
"We already ate at Claire's. Noah wanted to work on his photography project with Liam. Don't wait for us."
I stood in the kitchen, staring at the three place settings on the table.
I didn't reply.
The next morning at breakfast, I acted as if nothing had happened.
"Do you two want to go somewhere this weekend? Noah, you've been wanting to go to the lake. I can clear both days."
Noah looked up, a little uncomfortable.
"I can't this weekend. Liam and I are going out to shoot some photos. Claire said she'd drive us downtown."
Daniel took a sip of coffee.
"Maybe next time."
"Okay."
Under the table, I quietly closed the hotel booking page on my phone.
I still wasn't angry.
If anything, I became more convinced that maybe I'd simply come back too late.
On Friday, Noah had the most important game of his season.
I blocked off the time on my calendar days in advance.
Daniel didn't look pleased when I told him.
"Don't make another promise you can't keep. You've already missed four games this season. Noah doesn't ask if you're coming anymore because he doesn't want to wait for you."
Four games.
The number hit the exact place where I already felt guilty.
I remembered all four.
So I didn't defend myself.
"I'll be there this time."
That morning, I flew to Chicago to meet with a client.
My return flight was delayed forty minutes.
By the time we landed, the game had already started.
I didn't even go home. I dragged my suitcase straight from the airport to the school.
When I rushed into the gym, there were only three minutes left on the scoreboard.
Daniel saw me.
He didn't say anything.
I shoved my suitcase under the seat, my chest still aching from running through the halls.
Noah was on the court.
I'd made it for the last three minutes.
But all I could hear was Daniel's voice.
You've already missed four games.
Noah's team won.
The crowd poured out of the bleachers, and through the moving bodies, I saw him run toward Daniel.
Then Claire stepped over.
She reached up and casually fixed the collar that had folded into Noah's shirt, brushing the sweat from his forehead with the back of her hand.
Noah didn't pull away.
Daniel stood beside them with Claire's bag in one hand. When Liam tossed him a jacket, he caught it with the other.
Claire said something.
All four of them laughed.
No one was standing too close.
There was nothing openly inappropriate about it.
That was what made me stop.
They looked comfortable.
Practiced.
As if they'd done this many times before.
Daniel carrying the bags.
Claire fussing over the boys.
Noah and Liam shoving each other and laughing beside them.
They looked like a family photograph that had already been framed.
And I was standing outside the picture with an airport suitcase in my hand.
That was when I understood why everything I'd done over the past two days had changed nothing.
Coming home early once, cooking one dinner, clearing one weekend, even racing straight from the airport to make the last three minutes of a game—none of it could put me back where I'd been.
Because the problem wasn't whether I had time tonight.
They had already learned how to live without me.
None of us spoke on the drive home.
Noah was exhausted from the game and fell asleep in the back seat.
Daniel drove while I watched the streetlights slide across the window.
For once, I wasn't thinking about which meeting I could cancel tomorrow or what else I could do to make things right.
I thought about the roast chicken no one had eaten.
The hotel I'd almost booked.
And the words I'd seen on Daniel's phone.
So do I.
When we got home, Noah went straight upstairs.
Daniel dropped his keys by the door and started toward the kitchen.
"Daniel."
He turned.
I didn't ask if he'd kissed Claire.
I didn't ask if he'd slept with her.
Suddenly, neither question mattered.
I asked the only one that did.
"How long have you been in love with her?"
Daniel stood beneath the entryway light.
Only a few feet separated us.
Seventeen years ago, I'd stood this close to him when he told me he loved me.
Now he was silent for so long that I had my answer before he spoke.
Finally, he looked at me.
"Long enough to know I want a divorce."