Chương 11
The memory did not feel romantic anymore.
It felt contaminated.
I opened the photo app on my phone and searched September.
There we were.
Mark smiling beside me beneath the hotel awning.
My cheek against his shoulder.
His hand at my waist.
I looked happy.
That was somehow the most humiliating part.
I had not been performing.
I had believed the weekend belonged to us.
According to Rebecca, Mark had already told her our marriage was essentially over.
I forwarded her email to Claire.
Then I wrote back.
I need everything you have that relates to the house, the account, or anything Mark told you about our separation.
I stared at the message before sending it.
I wanted to add something cruel.
You stood beside my children.
You let me volunteer ten feet away while you stepped into my family photograph.
You knew my coffee order too, apparently.
I deleted all of it.
The useful part went out alone.
Rebecca answered twelve minutes later.
Then another message appeared.
I am sorry about Sophie.
I did not respond.
At seven the next morning, Claire called before I had finished brushing my teeth.
"I read the email."
"I figured."
"Don't contact Mark about the reimbursement account."
I rinsed my mouth.
"Why?"
"Because I want the statements first."
"What if he deletes something?"
"That's why we preserve records through institutions."
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror.
I looked exactly the same.
That seemed unreasonable.
"Rebecca says he lied to her too."
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"She says he lied to her."
"You don't believe her?"
"I believe evidence."
I leaned against the sink.
"You're exhausting."
"Professionally."
"She sent a screenshot."
"A screenshot is useful."
"But."
"But I want context, metadata if available, account records, and the rest of the conversation."
I closed my eyes.
"Normal people don't talk like this."
"Normal people shouldn't marry accountants."
Mark was not an accountant.
He worked in corporate sales operations and had the kind of mind that liked spreadsheets, forecasts, and scenarios.
That suddenly seemed much less harmless than it used to.
Claire continued.
"I sent you the engagement agreement."
"I saw it."
"Sign it if you want me formally involved."
I stared at the wedding ring on my left hand.
"What happens if I do?"
"I become your lawyer."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
Her voice softened.
"It doesn't automatically mean you're filing today."
I sat on the edge of the bathtub.
"It feels like crossing something."
"You already crossed something."
"No."
I shook my head even though she could not see me.
"He did."
That distinction mattered.
I signed the agreement before I could argue myself out of it.
At breakfast, Sophie pushed scrambled eggs around her plate.
Ethan had already left for school.
Mark had texted both children separately.
I knew because Sophie kept looking at her phone without opening the message.
"You don't have to answer him right away."
She glanced at me.
"Will he be mad?"
"No."
"How do you know?"
I almost said because he has no right to be.
Instead I said, "Because you're allowed to take time."
She nodded.
Then she opened the message.
Her face tightened.
"What did he say?"
She turned the phone toward me.
Morning, Soph.
I love you.
I know everything feels confusing.
None of this is your fault.
Can I take you to dinner tonight?
I hated the wording more than I should have.
It was gentle.
Responsible, even.
That made me suspicious of my own anger.
"He asked if I want dinner."
"You can go if you want."
"Do you want me to?"
"It isn't about what I want."
She frowned.
"That's not an answer."
Children had apparently formed a coalition against vague language.
"I don't want you caught between us."
"But I already am."
There was nothing to say to that.
She looked back at the phone.
"I don't want dinner."
"Okay."
"But I don't want him to think I hate him."
"You can tell him that."
She typed slowly.
I do not want dinner tonight.
I am not trying to be mean.
I just don't want to.
She showed it to me before sending.
"Is that bad?"
"No."
"It sounds rude."
"It sounds honest."
She sent it.
Then she put her phone face down beside the plate.
"I still love him."
"I know."
She looked almost guilty.
I reached across the table and touched her hand.
"You are allowed to."
Her mouth trembled.
"Do you?"
The question caught me off guard.
"Love Dad?"
"Yes."
I looked down at our hands.
"I don't know what to call what I feel right now."
She considered that.
"That's kind of sad."
"It is."
Her phone buzzed.
Mark had replied.
Okay.
I love you.
I'm here when you're ready.
Sophie read it and started crying.
I moved around the table and held her.
She buried her face against my shoulder.
"I wish he was mean."
I understood exactly what she meant.
So did I.
By nine, I was back at Claire's office.
She had already contacted the brokerage with my authorization and requested historical statements for the joint account.
She had also asked for documentation showing the destination of the three transfers.
"We probably won't get everything immediately."
"I know."
"You're saying that like you don't."
"I hate waiting."
"Most clients do."
She opened Rebecca's email on her monitor.
"Did she send anything else?"
"Not yet."
As if summoned by the sentence, my phone buzzed.
Rebecca.
I have a folder of emails and screenshots.
Some are personal.
I can send everything, but I want you to know first that some of it may be upsetting.
I handed Claire the phone.
She read the message.
"Tell her to preserve everything and send copies."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"No emotional warning?"
"She's already given you one."
May you like
I typed.
Please preserve everything in its original form and send copies of all materials related to Mark, the property, financial accounts, or what he told you about our separation.
