I hold the phone to my ear, my heart hammering a painful rhythm.
Ring.
Please, Ross. Be at home. Be in the car, driving to my parents’. Be anywhere but there.
Ring.
The wait stretches.
Ring.
My stomach turns over. A cold, heavy stone settles in my gut.
He’s not answering.
He’s staring at the phone. I know it. He’s looking at it, and he’s looking at them—Miller, the brief, the partnership, the woman.
And he’s choosing.
Ring.
The line clicks.
“You’ve reached Ross Calder. I’m currently unavailable…”
I pull the phone away from my ear as his recorded voice confident, professional, distant, fills the room.
He didn’t pick up.
He went to work. After everything, after the whisper, after I left, after the wreckage of our marriage lay smoking on the floor, he got up, put on a suit, and went to work.
I don’t cry. The tears dry instantly, replaced by a clarity so sharp it cuts.
Wren was right. I shouldn’t be angry. I should be done.
I end the call.
And then I go downstairs to help Wren make coffee. I’m done competing for my husband’s attention. The only thing left is to tell him I want a separation.
Chapter 6
Ross
After I missed a call from Margot while at work, I begged her to meet me. Thankfully, she agreed.
The coffee shop on 4th Street is neutral ground. It smells of roasted beans and damp wool coats, a sharp, gritty contrast to the sterile, recycled air of the firm.
I check my watch. 2:50 p.m. I am ten minutes early.
After choosing a table near the window, I face the door. My hands are folded on the scuffed wood, resting next to a latte I ordered for her—oat milk, one pump of vanilla. I remember. See?
I’m wearing the charcoal suit I wore to the client meeting this morning, but I took off the tie and unbuttoned the top collar. It’s a calculated move. I want to look like a husband, not a partner.
I check my watch again. 2:54 p.m.
I’m rehearsing what I’ll say. I won’t talk about the Dubai project. I won’t talk about the structural steel or the glass ratios. I will ask her about her latest painting. About the colors she’susing. I will listen, and prove how I can exist in her world without checking my email.
Bzzzt.
