“That’s it. We’re leaving.”
I looked through the glass beside the front door.
The foyer lights were on.
Beyond them, I could see the curved staircase, the walnut console table, and the arrangement of white orchids my housekeeper had refreshed every Monday for years.
Nothing looked different.
That somehow made everything worse.
A home shouldn’t be able to betray you, I thought.
Of course, the house hadn’t.
People had.
“Jessi?”
I turned away.
“Let’s go.”
Evelyn lived twenty-five minutes away in a cedar-sided house overlooking a reservoir.
She had converted her guest room into a temporary nursery before Lily was even born.
At the time, I had teased her.
“You’re preparing like I’m moving in.”
“You’ll thank me the first time you want to sleep for four uninterrupted hours.”
Now there was a bassinet beside the bed, diapers stacked neatly on a shelf, bottles sterilized in the kitchen, and a brand-new rocking chair beside the window.
The sight of it nearly undid me.
Evelyn noticed.
She pretended not to.
Instead, she took Lily while I eased myself onto the bed.
“Your daughter,” she whispered, gazing down at her, “has impeccable timing.”
“For what?”
“For sleeping through family disasters.”
“She gets that from Luca.”
Evelyn’s eyes flickered toward me.
I regretted the comment immediately.
Not because it was cruel.
Because it sounded too much like the version of myself I became in business meetings whenever I was hurt—dry, detached, efficient.
Evelyn lowered Lily into the bassinet.
“Do you want to talk about him?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
That answer came too quickly.
I looked at her.
“You’re not going to push?”
“You had major surgery three days ago. Your husband locked you out of your own home. You’re allowed to choose which disaster we discuss first.”
That almost made me cry.
Instead, I looked at Lily.
Her tiny fist rested beside her cheek.
“I keep trying to understand why he did it.”
“Control.”
“That’s too simple.”
“Sometimes simple is accurate.”
I shook my head.
“Luca isn’t stupid.”
“I didn’t say he was.”
“He knows the house is mine. He signed the prenup. He attended the closing dinner when I paid off the remaining mortgage.”
“Then maybe he didn’t think you’d fight him.”
The words landed harder than I expected.
I looked toward the dark windows.
Evelyn sat beside me.
“Jessi, how many times has he crossed a line and then convinced you it wasn’t really a line?”
I didn’t answer.
She continued gently.
“The Christmas party?”
“That was his mother.”
“He invited eighty people without asking.”
“He thought I was working in New York.”
“The charity luncheon?”
“Stephanie misunderstood.”
“She changed the event venue to your house.”
I closed my eyes.
“The wine cellar?”
I opened them again.
“What about it?”
“Luca gave his business partner a key.”
“He returned it.”
“After you found out.”
I stared at my sister.
She wasn’t accusing me.
That made it worse.
Because there was no satisfaction in her face.
Only sadness.
“How long have you thought this?” I asked.
“A while.”
“And you never said anything?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Every time I asked whether you were happy.”
I almost argued.
Then I remembered.
Evelyn had asked that question dozens of times during the past two years.
Not, How is Luca?
Not, How’s married life?
Always the same question.
Are you happy?
And I always gave the same answer.
I’m busy.
My phone rang.
Phoebe.
I answered immediately.
“What did you find?”
“Hello to you too.”
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No.”
Phoebe sighed.
“The buyer is still interested.”
“How interested?”
“Enough that his attorney answered my call at nine twenty-three on a Wednesday night.”
“Terms?”
“Same offer as last month. Cash purchase. Inspection waived except structural review. They’ll accept most furnishings if you don’t want them removed.”
“Good.”
“However.”
There it was.
The word attorneys used when reality entered the conversation.
I sat straighter.
“What?”
“You can sell the property. That part is straightforward. But selling it and delivering clean possession are separate matters.”
“Because Luca lives there.”
“Because it’s been used as the marital residence.”
“But he doesn’t own it.”
“That doesn’t automatically mean we pretend he’s a trespasser. Colorado domestic-relations issues can complicate occupancy even where title is separate property. Your prenup helps enormously, but I’m not going to create a legal mess because everyone is emotional tonight.”
I appreciated that about Phoebe.
She was one of the few people in my life who never confused loyalty with telling me exactly what I wanted to hear.
