Chapter 1
It was my forty-ninth birthday.
My husband and I had been living apart under the same roof for years, but on my birthday, he finally spent the night with me, as if that was his gift.
Afterward, he lit a cigarette and said calmly, "Let's get divorced. The house and the money are all yours."
I nodded. Later, when he had the divorce decree in hand and thought he was finally rid of me, I slid a DNA test across the table to him.
"Richard Quinn," I said quietly, "the son you've cherished for twenty years isn't your blood."
*****
That night, on my forty-ninth birthday, Richard came home.
There was no cake, no flowers, not even a "Happy Birthday."
He brought in the chill from outside, along with the lingering scent of white floral perfume, the kind young women liked, and Claire White's favorite.
After more than twenty years, her love for that scent had lasted longer than our marriage.
In the kitchen, I made him a bowl of birthday noodles with two eggs.
He sat at the dining table, his suit jacket tossed over the back of the chair, one cufflink unfastened. He looked so calm and polished, like he was at some upscale dinner where nobody bothered to speak.
I sat across from him, watching as he slowly finished his noodles.
I've watched that face for twenty-six years. He went from having nothing to being the boss of Quinn Enterprises, from hustling deliveries in a beat-up van to having someone open the car door for him.
Time didn't smooth out his sharp edges and make him calm, it erased even the guilt he once had.
He put down his fork, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and looked up at me.
"Stella, it's your birthday today," he said.
I nodded. "Yes."
"What do you want?" he asked, sounding like he was going through the motions, as if I was another item on his to-do list.
I looked at him and smiled. "Having you home is enough."
Richard looked at me for a few seconds, then pushed his chair back and walked over to me.
He took my hand, his touch unexpectedly warm.
"Go take a shower," he said.
I looked down at our hands, his fingers wrapped around mine.
We'd been sleeping apart for almost nine years.
The last time we were this close was four years ago, the night before he asked for a divorce for the second time.
Each time, it felt like he wanted to wrap things up neatly for himself, like a respectable closure.
Ididn'trefuse.Iwentintothebathroom.
Hot water streamed over my shoulders as I caught my reflection in the mirror. Forty-nine. There were lines at the corners of my eyes, and my figure wasn't as sharp as it used to be.
All those years chasing after Richard in warehouses, tagging along to meet clients, looking after his mom, raising his son for him, it didn't make us any closer as a couple. All it left me with was a master bedroom that felt emptier every year.
Half an hour later, I came out in my pajamas.
Richard was already in bed, with a small lamp on.
He reached out to me.
I lay down beside him, and he pulled me into his arms, not gently, but with the kind of routine closeness that comes from years together.
There was no kiss, no unnecessary words.
He moved like he was checking off something on his list, smooth, controlled, but his mind was miles away.
I closed my eyes.
'Let this be the last time,' I thought to myself.
Afterward, the room was so quiet that the only sound was the branches outside scraping against the window.
The lighter clicked, and a small flame cast a glow on his face in the dim room.
The smoke spread through the room.
"Stella," he said.
His voice was so clear, it almost pierced the silence of the night.
"Let's get divorced," Richard said.
I stared at the ceiling, saying nothing.
This was the third time he'd brought it up.
When I didn't say anything, he added, as if he needed to remind me of his so-called generosity.
"Just like before, everything under my name: the two houses, the savings, the car, it's all yours," Richard said.
He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.
"I don't want anything," I said.
I drew the blanket up around me, hugging it to my chest.
He thought money could erase twenty-six years.
He still thought I was the same woman who'd always be waiting for him, no matter how many times he turned away.
I heard myself speak, my voice empty and dull.
"Okay," I said.