Chapter 3
Eight days.
I folded the moving company's room-assignment sheet and slipped it into my laptop bag before Ethan returned upstairs.
At dinner, Vanessa sat in my usual chair beside him.
She had changed out of my robe, but she was drinking tea from the porcelain cup my mother had left me.
Small blue flowers circled its rim.
There were plenty of other cups in the cabinet.
"Use another one," I said.
Vanessa glanced down.
"Ethan gave me this."
"It belonged to my mother."
Her fingers remained around the handle.
She looked at Ethan instead of handing it back.
"It's only a cup, Claire," he said.
He opened the takeout containers and began dividing the food among three plates.
Vanessa stayed in my chair, holding the cup close to her chest.
"I hope you don't think I'm trying to take anything from you," she said.
"Ethan told me not to worry."
"About what?"
"About being here."
"He said you're good at making room for what he really wants."
The serving spoon stopped above her plate.
"That isn't what I said," Ethan replied.
Vanessa gave a small laugh.
"Not exactly."
He continued serving dinner without explaining what he had said.
An empty chair waited across the table.
Ethan had chosen my seat for Vanessa, just as he had chosen my bedroom for her.
Both times, he expected me to use whatever remained.
I took my mother's cup from her hands, emptied the tea into the sink, and carried it upstairs.
The guest bed smelled of cardboard.
I lay awake without changing my clothes, listening to the television below.
Shortly after one, the sound stopped.
I went downstairs for water.
At the turn of the stairs, I heard Vanessa speaking in the open-plan kitchen.
The light above the island was still on.
She sat at one end with a mug in front of her.
Ethan sat several feet away, rubbing one thumb along the rim of his glass.
"What if she tells me to leave tomorrow?" Vanessa asked.
"She won't."
"How can you be sure?"
Ethan glanced toward the stairs.
I stepped back before he could see me.
"Don't push her," he said.
"Let her get used to you being here."
Vanessa watched him across the island.
"You really think she'll accept this?"
"She'll accept it."
"She always does."
His voice held no uncertainty.
For fourteen years, I had changed dinner reservations when his clients called.
I had canceled weekends when his family needed help.
When his company fell behind, I completed design work without putting my name on it.
Ethan had thanked me each time.
Sometimes he had apologized.
I had taken those apologies as proof that he noticed what I was giving up.
Standing on the stairs, I understood that he had noticed something else: I always stayed.
Neither of them looked toward me again.
I returned upstairs without getting any water.
I opened the safe in the guest-room closet and took out the deed, our prenuptial agreement, and the household financial records.
I scanned them, then put the originals beside the moving sheet in my bag.
At 2:13 a.m., I closed the safe.
My mother's cup was still on the bedside table.
I wrapped it in one of my sweaters and placed it carefully inside my suitcase.
Then I set the suitcase beside the guest-room door.