"I knew you'd understand." Those were the last words Daniel said before leaving for his mistress — and when he returned, his wife was gone.

Marcus called on a Tuesday.

I was at my desk at work, editing a manuscript about cardiac rehabilitation, when my cell phone lit up with his name.

"The federal investigators executed a search warrant on Gordon Pryce's firm this morning," he said.

"They also executed one on his home office."

I set my pen down.

"Diane?"

"She was cooperative.

She had already copied the files to a secure location, as I advised her.

Gordon didn't know." A pause.

"He was taken in for questioning this afternoon.

He has not been formally charged yet, but based on what the investigators told me, it's a matter of days."

"And Daniel?"

"Daniel's attorney received a target letter this morning.

That means federal investigators consider him a target of the investigation, not merely a witness." Marcus's voice was careful and precise.

"Rachel, this is moving faster than I expected.

The pattern across multiple clients is significant.

This isn't just your case anymore."

I looked through the glass wall of my office at Priya, who was on the phone at her desk, laughing at something, completely ordinary.

"What do I need to do?" I asked.

"Nothing right now.

Let it move.

Rebecca is going to use the target letter in your divorce proceedings.

It significantly weakens Daniel's position."

After I hung up, I sat for a long time without picking up my pen.

I thought about the moment I had found Daniel's laptop message.

*If you're really leaving her, prove it.* The way I had stood in the bathroom doorway reading it while the shower ran.

The way I had closed the laptop and gone back to bed and lain there in the dark, already knowing that everything was different and that nothing would show on my face in the morning.

I had been so careful.

So had he.

The difference was that I had been careful to protect myself.

He had been careful to take from me.

My phone buzzed.

Natalie.

*Dinner tonight?

I made too much pasta.*

I smiled at the screen.

*Yes.*

That evening, sitting at Natalie's table with a bowl of pasta I hadn't cooked and a glass of wine I hadn't poured, I told her everything Marcus had said.

She listened without interrupting.

When I finished, she was quiet for a moment.

Then she said, "How are you actually doing?"

Not about the case.

Not about Daniel.

About me.

I thought about it honestly.

"I'm tired," I said.

"I'm tired in a way that I don't think is just about this.

I think I've been tired for a long time and I didn't let myself notice."

Natalie looked at me across the table.

"I know," she said.

"I've watched you not notice for years."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I did.

Once.

About four years ago.

You told me Daniel was going through a stressful period at work and that things would settle down." She picked up her wine.

"I decided to wait."

"Four years."

"I'm patient."

I laughed.

It was a quiet laugh, but it was real.

"I don't know who I am outside of that house," I said.

It came out before I'd decided to say it.

Natalie didn't rush to answer.

"You're the person who spent three weeks quietly gathering evidence while your husband thought you were fine," she said.

"You're the person who walked out with two suitcases and didn't look back.

You're the person who sat across from Harlan Cross for two hours and didn't give him a single thing he could use." She set her glass down.

"You know exactly who you are.

You've just been spending your energy on someone who didn't deserve it."

I looked at my pasta.

"I bought a dress," I said.

"For the anniversary.

It's hanging in your closet."

"I know.

I've seen it."

"I don't know what to do with it."

Natalie considered this seriously.

"Wear it somewhere that has nothing to do with him.

Somewhere you choose."

I nodded.

We finished dinner.

I washed the dishes while Natalie dried them, and we talked about nothing in particular — a film she wanted to see, a book I was editing, whether the café on the corner had gotten worse or whether we had just gotten more particular — and it was the most normal hour I had spent in weeks.

I was almost asleep that night when Rebecca sent a message.

*Daniel's attorney called.

He wants to meet.

Without Harlan Cross.

Just Daniel and his personal attorney, you and me.

He says Daniel has something to say.*

I stared at the ceiling.

*What does he want to say that Harlan Cross can't be in the room for?*

Rebecca's reply came quickly.

*That's exactly the right question.

I'll find out.