I stand there with my hand still on the closet door.
Then I go to my office.
A note is centered on my desk, and her wedding ringsits on top of it.
My heart drops to my toes.
I pick up the ring first. Is it still warm? Or am I imagining it? Either way, I close my fist around it and can’t open my hand.
I read her words standing up.
I’m sorry. You deserve someone who fits into your world, who can stand beside you without costing you everything. I love you too much to watch you lose more because of me. Please don’t look for me. Let me do this one thing for you—let you go.
—Nora
I read it again, but the words don’t change.
I read it a third time, and something in me—the control I’ve spent thirty-eight years reinforcing—splinters into a thousand fragments.
The laptop flies off the desk first. Then the stack of files. Then my fist slams through the drywall. I don’t feel the impact even after I pull my hand back and see the split skin across my knuckles and the blood welling in a clean line.
I slide down the wall and sit on the floor among the debris.
She’s gone. She’s fucking gone.
She left me a note and her wedding ring and walked out of this penthouse with everything she came with—which was nothing—and she thinks she’s doing me a favor.
I picture her face this morning when I kissed her goodbye. The way she held on a beat too long, like it meant something more thansee you tonight.
I wasso sure I was imagining it.
My phone rings. It’s Finn.
“Boss.” His voice carries the careful flatness he uses when delivering bad news. “I just got a call from security. It seems your wife left the building a half hour ago. The surveillance video shows she had… It looks like one of those black plastic trash bags. I’ve already got people?—”
“Find her.”
“Already working on it.”
“Use every resource. I don’t care what it costs.” I’m on my feet. “Find my wife.”
I hang up and call Declan. He picks up on the second ring.
“Hey, bro, change your mind about celebrating with us? We’re here at the family pub.”
“Nora’s gone. I need your help.”
A pause, then, “I’m on my way.”
I hear him make a quick, muffled explanation and then Ronan’s voice comes on the line, “We’ll be there in twenty.”
Lorcan texts less than a minute later.
Heard what happened. Omw!
I’ve washed the blood off my knuckles and straightened my clothes by the time they arrive. I’ve become the version of myself that moves, plans, executes—the version that doesn’t fall apart. But my fist is still closed around her ring.
We work through the afternoon and into the evening. Finn has a team checking traffic footage, ATM records, and transit schedules. Declan thinks like a tactician—where would someone go with no money, no car, no family? Ronan pulls contacts at the bus terminal. Lorcan works the street level, talking to people who notice things cameras miss.
