Chương 1
""The receptionist’s face changed the second she saw me walking toward her desk with my five-year-old daughter beside me.
Her polite corporate smile faltered, and her eyes dropped to the paper bag Lucy was carrying with both hands.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Ellis,” she said, lowering her voice.
“Mr. Ellis specifically asked not to be disturbed while Ms. Sloan is here.”
For a moment, I forgot about the migraine medication in my hand.
“Ms. Sloan?”
The receptionist swallowed.
She already knew she had said too much.
“Rebecca Sloan?”
Lucy leaned against my hip, making the paper bag crinkle.
Inside it was a plastic container of homemade chicken soup, a sleeve of crackers, and a napkin on which Lucy had drawn a purple heart because she believed headaches were improved by both sodium and artwork.
Forty minutes earlier, Caleb had texted me.
Splitting headache.
Left my meds at home.
Any chance you can rescue me?
Rescue me.
That was Caleb’s favorite word whenever he needed something.
He said it lightly enough that the request sounded almost affectionate.
For six years, I had rearranged appointments, meals, work calls, school pickups, grocery runs, and pieces of myself around those little emergencies.
I had picked Lucy up from kindergarten, driven home, found Caleb’s medication in the bathroom cabinet, and heated soup because Lucy had become alarmed when I said Daddy had a migraine.
Now we had driven twenty-five minutes into uptown Charlotte to discover that Daddy was apparently too busy to be rescued.
“That’s fine,” I told the receptionist.
My voice sounded normal, which surprised me.
“Just tell him Margot brought his medicine.”
Lucy looked up at me.
“Can I give Daddy his soup?”
The receptionist’s expression became genuinely miserable.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“He said his head hurts.”
“I’m sure he’ll feel better soon.”
Lucy frowned at this inadequate arrangement.
“But soup gets cold.”
Before the receptionist could answer, a glass conference-room door opened down the hallway.
A woman stepped out.
She was tall, dark-haired, and dressed in navy trousers with a camel coat folded over one arm.
Recognition came without permission.
Rebecca Sloan.
I had seen exactly three photographs of her during my marriage.
The first was an old college picture in which Caleb had his arm around her waist.
The second appeared on Facebook after a reunion.
The third was a wedding photograph Caleb’s mother, Patricia, had shown me years ago while saying, with a wistfulness I had pretended not to notice, “Rebecca always photographed beautifully.”
Rebecca looked older now, of course.
So did I.
So did Caleb.
Except when he walked out behind her, laughing.
He did not look like a man with a splitting migraine.
His jacket was off, his sleeves were rolled to his forearms, and his face had a looseness I had not seen at our dinner table in months.
Rebecca said something I could not hear.
Caleb touched her elbow.
Then he saw me.
The laughter disappeared.
“Daddy!”
Lucy’s shout carried across the polished reception area.
Caleb’s first glance was not at me.
It went to the receptionist.
It lasted perhaps half a second.
That half second settled somewhere cold beneath my ribs.
Then he came toward us.
“Margot.”
Not honey.
Not hey.
Not what are you doing here?
Just Margot.
“I brought your medication,” I said.
Lucy lifted the bag proudly.
“And I brought soup.”
Caleb crouched and hugged her.
“Thank you, bug.”
“I put crackers in it.”
“Perfect.”
“You have to eat it before it gets cold.”
Rebecca had remained near the conference room, but Caleb could not reasonably pretend she wasn’t there.
When he stood, he looked at me with an expression I recognized from arguments about money and his mother.
It meant he had already decided I was being difficult.
“I wish you’d texted before coming up.”
I stared at him.
“You asked me to bring your medicine.”
“I meant you could leave it downstairs.”
“You didn’t say that.”
He rubbed his forehead.
The migraine had apparently returned on schedule.
“I’m in the middle of something.”
My eyes moved past him.
“Clearly.”
His jaw tightened.
“This is Rebecca Sloan.”
He paused.
“We knew each other in college.”
“I know.”
That surprised him.
Rebecca approached slowly, her coat still over her arm.
“Margot.”
She said my name with uncomfortable familiarity.
Then she looked at Lucy.
“And you must be Lucy.”
Lucy immediately moved behind me.
Only half her face remained visible.
“How do you know me?”
Rebecca’s eyes flicked toward Caleb.
“I’ve talked about you,” Caleb said.
The answer came too quickly.
Rebecca gave Lucy a small smile.
“It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Finally.
Such an ordinary word.
Caleb looked at Rebecca.
Rebecca looked at Caleb.
Neither looked at me.
“How long have you been back in Charlotte?” I asked.
“Since April.”
September suddenly felt much farther from April than five months.
“My company transferred me from Atlanta.”
“That must have been a big move.”
“It was.”
Caleb stepped between the silence before it could become useful.
“We should probably get back to this.”
I held out his medication.
He took it.
Lucy pushed the paper bag toward him.
“And don’t forget Daddy’s soup.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I buttoned Lucy’s cardigan where she had missed the bottom button.
“We should go.”
“Margot—”
“She needs dinner.”
His mouth opened, then closed.
“Can we talk tonight?”
“Sure.”
Lucy waved as we headed toward the elevators.
“Bye, Daddy.”
“Bye, bug.”
The elevator arrived with a soft chime.
Just before the doors closed, I looked back.
Rebecca was standing beside my husband.
Neither of them was laughing anymore.
Lucy lasted four blocks before asking the question I had spent those four blocks avoiding.
“Why didn’t Daddy want us to come in?”
“He was working.”
“With that lady?”
“Yes.”
A delivery truck edged into my lane, and I braked harder than I meant to.
Lucy’s booster-seat straps caught her shoulders.
“Sorry, baby.”
“It’s okay.”
She watched buildings slide past her window.
“Is that lady his boss?”
May you like
“No.”
“Does Daddy boss her?”
