Chapter 2
At nine the next morning, I looked at the suitcase beside the dining table and called my sister.
“Is your guest room free?” I asked, my fingers resting against my mug. “I’d like to stay for a few days.”
“Of course.” She laughed softly. “What brought this on?”
“There are some things I’d rather tell you in person.”
She went quiet.
“Okay.” Her voice softened. “Come over around noon. I’ll have lunch ready.”
I told her I would.
After we hung up, I finished my toast, opened my laptop, and searched for divorce attorneys.
I read through several firms’ websites, wrote down their numbers, and called the first one.
“Hi, I’d like to schedule a divorce consultation.” I sat up straight and pulled a sheet of paper toward me.
The receptionist took down my basic information and scheduled an appointment for the following morning.
“Bring any relevant documents you have,” she said patiently. “If you’re not sure what you need, you can start by writing down your questions.”
I confirmed the address and wrote down the time.
My pen paused over the next line.
Then I wrote:
Once I hire an attorney, can all communication with my husband go through them?
Before leaving at noon, I emailed a client to confirm when I would deliver the revised designs. Then I checked my document folder one more time.
The pregnancy report was tucked in the back.
The package was still in the entryway.
I left the card inside. I didn’t leave a note.
He would see it.
I locked the door, put my keys in my bag, and rolled my suitcase toward the elevator.
When my sister opened her door, she took the suitcase and studied my face for a moment.
“Lunch first.” She stepped aside to let me in. “Whatever it is, we can talk after you eat.”
I sat at the table. She ladled soup into a bowl and slid it toward me.
She didn’t push me to talk.
After lunch, I took out my phone and showed her the photo of the card.
She set down her cup, her brow tightening.
“Vivian? The one who went furniture shopping with you?”
I nodded.
She read the anniversary message again, then looked up.
“What did Evan say?”
“I haven’t asked him.” I held my phone. “I don’t want to argue back and forth with either of them. I’m meeting with a lawyer tomorrow.”
She was quiet for a moment, then rested her hand over mine.
“Then stay here. We’ll take it one step at a time.”
That afternoon, I organized my documents in the guest room.
When I reached the pregnancy report, I took it out and went to find her.
“There’s something else.” I handed her the paper. “I’m nine weeks pregnant.”
She dried her hands and read it for a long time.
“Does Evan know?” she asked quietly.
I shook my head.
She pulled out a chair for me. I sat down, took back the report, and smoothed its bent corner.
“I’ll tell the lawyer about this, too,” I said. “I need to understand what comes next.”
A little after seven, my husband called.
I silenced the phone and put it back on the table.
A few minutes later, he called again.
My sister came in with a mug of warm milk and glanced at the screen.
“Do you want me to talk to him?”
“No.” I accepted the mug. “Once I’ve hired the lawyer, they can contact him.”
The screen finally went dark.
I opened the consultation confirmation email and checked the time and address again.
Then I set my alarm and placed the document folder by the door.
Nine o’clock tomorrow morning.
This time, I wasn’t canceling my plans for his.