Chapter 3

The afternoon Rosie was discharged, the repair shop called to say my car was ready.

But I was not the one who picked it up.

When Julian came home, he was carrying only the spare key.

I met him in the entryway with Rosie in my arms.

"Where is my car?"

"I loaned it to Sloane. Her car will not hold all the samples she needs for tomorrow's trade show."

"What is Rosie supposed to ride in when she goes back for her follow-up?"

"Did the doctor not tell her to rest at home?"

"The doctor told her to limit her activity. He did not give you permission to hand our car to someone else."

Before Julian could answer, a horn sounded outside the garage.

My car was parked there.

Sloane sat behind the wheel and lowered the window with a smile for Julian.

"I am going to be late. There is not enough room for all this stuff in the back."

Julian walked around the car and opened the trunk.

First, he set Rosie's care bag and medical records on the ground.

Then he opened the rear door and began removing the car seat that the hospital had specifically installed for Rosie's recovery.

"Do not take that out."

Julian did not stop.

"The sample cases will not fit. We can reinstall it in two days."

"She has to go back to the hospital tomorrow to have her dressing changed."

"Then take a rideshare."

He yanked the final strap loose and dropped the seat onto the cold concrete floor.

One corner struck the ground hard.

Rosie's favorite pink blanket was still pinned beneath it. Muddy water quickly soaked through the fabric.

Sloane gave me an apologetic look through the window.

"I have so many samples. Julian said Rosie probably would not be going anywhere for a while, so you will not need it, right?"

Julian pushed the last case into the car.

"It is fine. We will put it back later."

Neither of them had asked me.

I checked the angle of that seat every day because I was terrified the straps would press against Rosie's fresh incision.

Now they had thrown it out of my daughter's place as though they were clearing away useless clutter.

After the car pulled away, I crouched and picked up the dirty blanket.

Rosie leaned against the doorway and asked softly, "Why did Daddy give my seat to her?"

Before I could answer, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

Sloane had sent me a message.

"Your car drives beautifully. Julian said you will not need it for a while. He is always so thoughtful."

That evening, I showed the message to Julian.

"She is deliberately taunting me."

He did not even look at the screen.

He reached over and turned my phone facedown on the table.

"I'm not going to analyze every word she says with you."

"You didn't even read it."

"Because I know what kind of person Sloane is."

"Do you know what kind of condition your wife and daughter are in right now?"

He was silent for a few seconds.

"Clara, you have become impossible lately."

"Rosie's illness has made you anxious, but you cannot take every emotion out on Sloane."

I nodded and took back my phone.

"You are right."

I was no longer the Clara who explained herself over and over, hoping he might finally see what was happening.

For seven years, whenever Sloane crossed a line, Julian demanded that I prove she had meant to hurt me.

When I produced messages, photographs, or bills, he said the evidence only proved that I was too sensitive.

At last, I understood that I could never win this argument.

The truth was not what he wanted to protect.

He wanted to protect Sloane's right to do anything without consequences.

And I would not stand there any longer, waiting for him to decide whether my feelings were real.

Back in the bedroom, I opened the safe at the bottom of my closet.

I took out our passports, our marriage certificate, Rosie's birth certificate, and all her medical records. I placed them in the document folder I had prepared.

Then I texted my attorney.

"How soon can the divorce agreement be ready for my signature?"