Chương 3
“Nothing.”
“Why are you smiling?”
“I’m tired.”
He seemed relieved by that answer.
“Get some sleep.”
He left the nursery.
At 1:37 in the morning, after listening to Ethan breathe evenly beside me for nearly two hours, I slipped out of bed.
I sat beneath the nursery’s yellow night-light with my phone in both hands.
Daniel’s number was still there.
I had not called it in five years.
It rang twice.
“Hello?”
“It’s Emily.”
Silence.
Then his voice changed.
“Emily Bennett?”
Nobody had called me Bennett since my wedding.
“Yes.”
“Are you okay?”
I looked through the open nursery door toward the dark hallway.
“No.”
Daniel waited.
He had always been good at that.
“Tell me.”
I pressed my palm against my daughter’s slow movement.
“I need to know exactly what my name is still holding up.”
There was a pause.
When Daniel answered, the sleep was gone from his voice.
“Does Ethan know you’re asking?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I closed my eyes.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we should talk before you do anything.”
“I already did something.”
“What?”
“I called you.”
Daniel was quiet again.
Then he said, “Emily, if you’re finally ready to find out what Ethan built on top of you, you need to be prepared for the possibility that the answer is more than your marriage can survive.”
“I’m already prepared for that.”
“No, you’re prepared to leave your husband.”
Daniel’s voice stayed low and maddeningly calm.
“I’m talking about discovering that the version of the last five years you accepted may not be the version everyone else was living.”
I stared at the little wooden moon hanging above the crib.
“Are you trying to scare me?”
“I’m trying not to lie to you at two in the morning.”
“You never used to worry about that.”
“I got older.”
“So did I.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
I heard movement on his end, then the faint clink of glass.
“You still drink water when you’re nervous?” I asked.
“Apparently.”
The familiarity of it unsettled me more than I expected.
Daniel Mercer had once been the person who could tell I was about to reject a deal because I stopped taking notes.
Then I married Ethan, left Bennett Advisory, and gradually turned Daniel into a Christmas-card acquaintance whose number I kept without admitting why.
“What do you know?” I asked.
“Enough to tell you not to send angry emails tonight.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Don’t confront Ethan about investors either.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Why?”
“Because if you want to understand what your reputation is still supporting, you need to see how people behave before they know you’re looking.”
“That sounds dramatic.”
“It’s actually very boring.”
Daniel yawned.
“We’ll make lists.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
“You always did love a spreadsheet.”
“I love evidence.”
“When can we meet?”
“Eight thirty.”
“In the morning?”
“No, Emily, next February.”
I almost laughed, and the sound caught painfully in my throat.
Daniel heard it.
His voice softened.
“Eight thirty tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“Not my office.”
“Why?”
“Because half the people who matter know you, Ethan, or both.”
He gave me the address of a small coffee shop in Arlington.
“I’ll be there.”
“Emily.”
“What?”
“Bring whatever you personally have access to.”
I looked toward the hallway again.
“What exactly does that mean?”
“Your own emails, your own records, anything sent to you directly.”
“You’re telling me not to go through Ethan’s computer.”
“I’m telling you not to become stupid because you’re angry.”
That sounded so much like the Daniel I remembered that I closed my eyes.
“I hate you a little.”
“Good.”
He paused.
“And don’t sign anything.”
My eyes opened.
“Why would I sign anything?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a strange warning.”
“It’s a useful one.”
Before I could push him, he said, “Get some sleep.”
“I don’t think that’s happening.”
“Try anyway.”
Daniel hung up.
I stayed in the nursery until my back began to ache.
When I returned to the bedroom, Ethan had rolled onto my side.
One arm rested across my pillow.
For years, I had interpreted that unconscious reaching as tenderness.
That night it looked like ownership.
At seven fifteen, Ethan stood at the kitchen island drinking coffee while answering messages.
I was cutting a banana into slices because pregnancy had reduced breakfast to whatever my stomach would negotiate with.
He looked up when I entered.
“You sleep at all?”
“A little.”
He nodded as if we were discussing a delayed flight.
“I have meetings most of today.”
“Okay.”
“Vanessa won’t be there.”
The knife stopped against the cutting board.
“Congratulations.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I continued slicing.
“She’s taking a few days.”
“How generous.”
“Emily.”
I put the knife down.
“What response are you looking for?”
“I’m trying to show you that I’m taking this seriously.”
“You gave your mistress paid time off.”
His face tightened.
“She is still an employee.”
“Then perhaps someone should tell HR why she needs the vacation.”
“Don’t do that.”
The speed of his answer made me look at him.
Ethan set his phone facedown.
“I’m handling it.”
“Of course.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
For the first time that morning, something uncertain appeared behind his eyes.
He studied me.
“What are you going to do today?”
The question was too casual.
“I have errands.”
“What errands?”
“Pregnant-woman errands.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I picked up a banana slice.
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
His phone vibrated.
He checked it immediately.
I watched relief cross his face at having somewhere else to look.
“I’ll be home for dinner,” he said.
“I wouldn’t rearrange anything.”
“Emily, we need to talk.”
“We talked last night.”
“No, you interrogated me.”
I stared at him.
He seemed to hear himself a second too late.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You should go to work.”
He grabbed his jacket from the chair.
At the doorway, he turned.
“I do love you.”
May you like
I expected those words to hurt.
Instead, they made me tired.
