Chapter 7: The Night He Found Out
Petra called me Friday evening at seven forty-three.
"It's filed," she said.
"He'll be served Monday morning."
"At the office?"
"At the office."
I was sitting in the living room with a cup of tea.
The house was quiet.
Outside, the last of the light was leaving the garden.
"How will he react?" I said.
"Badly," Petra said.
"Be prepared for that.
He may come home angry.
He may try to negotiate.
He may try to make you feel like you've done something wrong."
"He's good at that."
"I know.
But you have the documentation.
You have the accounts.
You have Sloane's report.
He has nothing except the story he's been telling himself."
Barrett came home at ten-fifteen.
I heard the key in the lock, the door, his footsteps in the hall.
I didn't move from the sofa.
He appeared in the doorway.
He was still in his dinner clothes.
His face was a color I hadn't seen before.
"I got a call," he said.
"Sit down, Barrett."
"From my attorney.
Who got a call from your attorney." He stayed in the doorway.
"You went to a lawyer."
"Yes."
"Without saying a word to me."
"You said words to me for a year," I said.
"I listened to all of them."
He came into the room.
He didn't sit.
He stood in the center of it, and I watched him decide between two versions of himself — the one that might apologize and the one that would fight.
He chose to fight.
"You have no idea what you're doing," he said.
"This is a mistake.
Whatever Petra told you, whatever she's filed — this is a mistake you cannot undo."
"I know it can't be undone," I said.
"That's why I was careful."
"Renee." His voice dropped.
"I can fix this.
What happened with Dana — it's over.
I ended it.
Two weeks ago, I ended it."
"I know," I said.
"Sloane told me."
His face changed.
"You hired someone."
"I did."
"How long have you—" He stopped.
He sat down then.
Not because I'd asked him to.
Because his legs needed the chair.
"How long have you known?"
"Long enough."
"The account," he said quietly.
"You found the account."
"And the hotel stays.
And the apartment.
And the bracelet." I picked up my tea.
"Our money, Barrett.
You used our money."
He put his head in his hands.
For a moment, the room was completely still.
Then he looked up.
And the version of him that wanted to fight came back.
"If you go through with this," he said, "you will lose half of everything.
The house.
The investments.
Everything we built."
"I've spoken to Petra about that."
"Petra is a lawyer.
She'll take her fee and leave you with whatever's left."
"She's also my friend," I said.
"She's been my friend since we were twenty years old.
Which means she has been on my side longer than you have."
He stood up.
"I'm not signing anything," he said.
"I want you to hear that clearly.
I am not signing anything."
I looked at him standing in the middle of the room — this man I had built a life with, who had looked at me a year ago and decided I was no longer worth keeping.
"You don't have to sign anything tonight," I said.
"Monday morning will come regardless."
He left the room.
I heard him go upstairs.
I heard the bedroom door — our bedroom, the one he'd moved back into two weeks after the guest room, as if nothing had happened — close hard.
I finished my tea.
May you like
I rinsed the cup.
I slept better than I had in fourteen months.
