Chapter 1

Julian stayed out all night for the fifth time, and when morning came, I didn't cry, I didn't make a scene, and I didn't even call him.

I opened the company group chat, and more than five hundred people were online.

I posted one message.

"Hi everyone. I'm Lauren Winters, Mr. Eastgate's wife. I want to sincerely thank Ms. Turner for taking such good care of him. Starting today, Mr. Eastgate doesn't need to come home anymore, and he can move straight in with Ms. Turner. I've already changed the code on the door, and his clothes and personal belongings will be packed up and delivered to the front desk today. Thank you again, Ms. Turner. You've worked so hard."

Three seconds went by after I sent it.

Nobody in the group said a word.

Five seconds passed.

Then ten seconds passed.

The read count jumped from a dozen or so to two hundred, and then it jumped from two hundred to four hundred and eighty.

I leaned back on the couch, watched the number keep climbing on the screen, and picked up the tea that had gone cold on the table.

My phone buzzed.

Julian was calling me.

I hung up.

The phone buzzed again.

I hung up again.

On the third call, I powered the phone off.

The grandfather clock in the living room read 3:17 a.m., and the only sound in that twenty-two-hundred-square-foot house was the hum of the air conditioning.

I got up and walked into the closet off the master bedroom.

Julian's suits hung in a row, navy, charcoal, and black, sorted by season, with his ties folded in neat stacks and his cufflinks in a case of their own.

For three years, I had run that house like a five-star hotel.

He showed up less often than the average hotel guest.

I opened a suitcase and packed his things one piece at a time, as calm as a housekeeper clearing out a room after checkout.

*****

At seven sharp, I walked into the lobby of Eastgate Realty Group.

The receptionist looked up at me, and the expression on her face was worth the drive over.

"M... Mrs. Eastgate?" she managed.

"Morning," I said.

I wheeled two suitcases across the lobby and set Julian's badge on the counter.

"These are Mr. Eastgate's personal things. Would you make sure he gets them?"

The receptionist's mouth fell open and stayed that way.

"And this." I set a manila envelope on top of the suitcases. "Divorce papers. He can look them over whenever he has a minute."

The elevator chimed open and a crowd spilled out.

Trevor Carter from administration led the pack, and he stopped short when he saw me standing there with two suitcases.

"Mrs. Eastgate, what's going on..." he started.

"Personal business. Nobody needs to be late on my account," I said.

I turned and walked out, and the whispers started before I reached the doors.

Someone behind me said, "So that message last night was real?"

Another voice cut in. "She actually packed his clothes?"

A third one said, "And she brought divorce papers?"

I pushed through the glass doors into the sun, and for the first time in three years of marriage, the morning in this city looked bright to me.

The second my phone came back on, 63 unread messages and 27 missed calls poured in from Julian, from Helen, and from Jenna.

I didn't open a single one.

I called my mother first. "Mom, I'm getting a divorce."

The line went quiet for three seconds.

Then my mother said, "Are your bags packed? I'll send your father over to get you."

She didn't demand an explanation and she didn't tell me to work it out, and my throat tightened, but I held it together.

"Don't send him. I'll drive myself. I have something to take care of first," I said.

After I hung up, I scrolled through my contacts to a number I hadn't dialed in years. Shawn Rivers had been my classmate in college, and he was now a partner at the biggest firm in the South End.

He picked up, sounding as unhurried as ever. "Lauren?"

"I need you to handle my divorce," I said.

"Done." He didn't waste a word on questions. "My office at two."

He hung up.

I got into my car and started the engine, and the Eastgate tower shrank in my rearview mirror.