Chương 6
Then I glanced toward the guest room hallway.
The closet door stood open.
My metal file box was sitting on the floor.
And the lid was raised.
Mark followed my eyes and then looked back at me.
For once, he had the decency to appear uncomfortable.
Diane did not.
She folded her arms and said, “If you’re going to hide things from your husband, you can’t be shocked when he finds them.”
Denise stepped inside behind me and closed the front door.
Her presence changed the room immediately.
Diane’s expression tightened.
Mark looked at Denise as if she were a witness he had not approved.
I walked past both of them toward the guest room.
“Rachel.”
I kept walking.
“Rachel, stop.”
I reached the file box and crouched beside it.
The lock was bent outward.
Not broken cleanly.
Pried.
The small brass latch hung crooked from one screw.
My tax records were still there.
Dad’s probate documents were there.
Insurance policies.
Old mortgage statements.
The blue folder from Natalie was missing.
So were the handwritten notes from my first consultation.
I stood slowly.
“What did you take?”
Mark came to the doorway.
“Nothing.”
I pointed at the damaged lock.
“You opened this.”
“It’s my house too.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Diane appeared behind him.
“You don’t get to keep secret files in a marital home and then act violated.”
Denise made a low sound beside me.
It was not quite a laugh.
Diane looked at her.
“Is there something you’d like to say?”
“Nope.”
Denise tucked her hands into the pockets of her scrub jacket.
“I’m excellent.”
The corner of my mouth almost moved.
Mark noticed.
“This isn’t funny.”
“No,” I said.
“It really isn’t.”
I bent down and photographed the box.
The bent latch.
The papers inside.
The empty space where Natalie’s folder had been.
Mark’s face hardened.
“What are you doing?”
“Documenting.”
“For what?”
I did not answer.
His voice rose.
“Rachel, for what?”
Denise shifted one step closer to me.
I took another photo.
Diane said, “Oh, please.”
Then she turned to Mark.
“She’s trying to intimidate you.”
“I’m packing clothes.”
I walked toward the bedroom.
Mark followed.
“You’re not taking everything.”
“I’m taking clothes for me and the girls.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“I didn’t say anything yesterday except that I was leaving.”
“Exactly.”
I stopped at the dresser.
“Exactly what?”
“You walked out without talking to me.”
“After you agreed with your mother that our daughter’s birthday wasn’t worth celebrating because she’s a girl.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I already told you that’s not what I meant.”
“You haven’t told me what you did mean.”
Diane stepped into the bedroom.
“This fixation on one sentence is ridiculous.”
Denise remained in the hallway.
I wished, briefly and irrationally, that she would come farther in.
Then I was angry at myself for wishing it.
I had lived in this house before Mark.
I had painted this bedroom with my father.
I had chosen those curtains when I was twenty-six and still believed pale gray went with everything.
I did not need permission to stand in my own room.
I opened a drawer.
Mark put his hand on it and pushed it shut.
The sound was not loud.
That made it worse.
Denise moved immediately.
“Don’t.”
Mark turned.
“I’m not talking to you.”
“No problem.”
Her voice stayed flat.
“I’m talking to you.”
Diane scoffed.
“Who even are you?”
“The person making sure nobody gets stupid.”
Mark stared at her.
Then he removed his hand from the drawer.
I opened it again.
My fingers were shaking.
That annoyed me more than anything.
I pulled out jeans, underwear, T-shirts, two sweaters, and the black dress I wore to work when I had meetings.
I packed without folding.
Mark stood in the doorway watching.
“You’ve been planning this.”
I kept packing.
“You met with a lawyer.”
“Yes.”
His mouth opened slightly.
I had surprised him by not denying it.
“When?”
“Months ago.”
Diane made a sharp sound.
“I knew it.”
I turned toward her.
“No, you didn’t.”
Her face hardened.
“You suspected something after your son broke into my file box.”
Mark stepped forward.
“I didn’t break into anything.”
I looked at the bent latch.
“Then what happened?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation was small.
But Natalie had told me not to solve the mystery by accusation.
So I waited.
Diane filled the silence.
“He had every right to know what you were hiding.”
I looked at Mark.
“You took the folder.”
He said nothing.
“You read it.”
His jaw tightened.
“It was sitting in the house.”
“Inside a locked box.”
“You’re my wife.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“You were preparing to divorce me behind my back.”
“I was trying to decide whether I could stay married to you.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No.”
I zipped the suitcase.
“It isn’t.”
His face changed then.
Not into anger.
Into something closer to injury.
For one second, I saw the man I had married.
The man who used to leave notes in my lunch bag.
The man who had once driven forty minutes back home because I texted that Emma had a fever and I was scared.
Then Diane said, “Don’t let her twist this.”
And the expression disappeared.
Mark looked at the suitcase.
“So that’s it?”
“No.”
I moved to the closet.
“That’s clothes.”
He laughed once.
It was harsh and tired.
“You know what I mean.”
I reached for a pair of shoes.
“No, Mark.”
I faced him.
“I’m done guessing what you mean.”
Behind him, Denise glanced away.
She was giving us privacy inside a room where none existed.
Mark lowered his voice.
“I made one mistake.”
The sentence landed strangely.
“One?”
“At the party.”
“You think yesterday was the first problem?”
“What else do you want from me?”
I almost answered.
Twelve years of answers crowded my throat.
May you like
I wanted you to notice when your mother ignored Lily at the hospital.
I wanted you to hear her when she called Emma a placeholder.
