Chapter 3

The day before my father’s funeral.

I sat on the guest-room floor with the inventory spread across my knees, staring at the date in the upper-right corner.

That morning, I had been at the funeral home confirming flowers and finalizing the guest list.

Owen had been arranging for movers to pack up my clothes, photographs, and nightstands and take them out of our bedroom.

This hadn’t been a last-minute decision.

He knew Vivienne was coming. He knew where she would sleep. He had kept it from me because I might have said no, and he didn’t want to say no to his sister.

I called a family-law office.

The receptionist told me the earliest consultation available was the following afternoon.

Until then, I couldn’t simply throw Vivienne and her belongings out onto the street.

Owen had invited her into our home, and we were still married.

Anger didn’t erase the steps I would have to take.

After I hung up, I opened a short-term rental site.

There weren’t many vacancies nearby.

It was the weekend after my father’s funeral, and the only furnished apartment available right away cost more than I could comfortably afford.

I paid the deposit for ten nights anyway.

I wasn’t running away.

I was giving myself a door I could close.

Owen found me after I had packed my suitcase. The nightstands were too heavy to take, so I only packed the loose items from their drawers, along with a few changes of clothes.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Somewhere for ten days.” I zipped my suitcase. “Tomorrow, I’m meeting with a lawyer. After that, Vivienne will have thirty days to find another place to live.”

His face tightened. “You’re giving my sister notice?”

“I’ll put the arrangement in writing. She can take whatever belongs to her, and she can hire someone to help her move. Thirty days is enough time to find a place.”

“She just got divorced, Naomi.”

“I just buried my father.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

My phone buzzed.

A new message had appeared in Owen’s family group chat.

Vivienne: I offered to take the guest room, but Naomi insisted I use the upstairs bedroom. Now she wants me gone. Please don’t blame her. She’s grieving.

Aunt Maureen replied almost immediately.

Owen, keep things calm. Naomi shouldn’t be making decisions like this right now.

I looked toward the master bedroom. Vivienne stood in the doorway in my robe, her phone in one hand.

“I was trying to keep everyone from worrying,” she said.

I laid the inventory on top of my suitcase and photographed the date, the room assignments, and Owen’s handwriting. Then I attached the picture to the group chat.

Owen stepped toward me. “Naomi, don’t send that.”

“Then tell them the truth.”

His eyes went to Vivienne before they came back to me.

He said nothing.

I typed one sentence beneath the photograph.

This was arranged the day before my father’s funeral. I never offered Vivienne our bedroom.

Then I pressed Send.

The message changed from Sending to Sent.

Three dots appeared beneath Aunt Maureen’s name.