Every single one of those hopes had been crushed that night, though. After listening to Stefan talk about his perfect day with Anja and Max and how excited he was to step up and be a father to his kid, and still haunted by the paparazzi photos of the three of them as one big, happy family, I’d known immediately what I needed to do.
I couldn’t stay with Stefan. I couldn’t stand in the way of him having the family he wanted and I couldn’t wait for him to realize that and break my heart into a million pieces. It was clear to me that my father-in-law had somehow brought Anja and Max back to Stefan in an effort to replace me.
There was nothing I could do about it.
So I’d pretended that everything was fine. On Tuesday I’d had Bruce drop me off at my father-in-law’s for the family dinner I’d agreed to, and I’d even gone inside so that Bruce wouldn’t realize anything was amiss—and then I had walked through the lobby and snuck out the back entrance before anyone could see me, got an Uber, and headed back to Stefan’s condo.
It hadn’t taken long to pack everything, even though I’d done it through my tears. Knowing it was the right thing to do didn’t make it any easier. Finally, I’d called another Uber and had them take me and my things all the way to Springfield, and I hadn’t looked back.
Leaving UChicago was almost as upsetting as leaving my marriage. Yet I knew there was no point in continuing to attend my classes. Stefan wasn’t going to keep paying my tuition once he divorced me, of that I was certain, and I knew my father sure as hell wouldn’t step in to help me either. We’d been over the school thing before. He’d even denied me a temporary loan.
The only thing worse than leaving Stefan was the thought of what my father would say when I showed up on his doorstep.
Thankfully, when I knocked on the door, it was Michelle who’d greeted me. She’d taken one look at me, standing there in the cold rain, and said, “Well, whatever is the matter, darlin’?”
When I started crying again, she’d wrapped an arm around me and said no more.
My father wasn’t even home, it turned out; he was in DC for a work trip. I was grateful for that at least. We hadn’t spoken since the huge fight about KZM at his office, when I’d told him he wasn’t my father anymore. And while I knew he wouldn’t turn me out on the street in my time of need, I also knew he’d be pissed that I’d left my marriage. He’d demand to know what had happened. Would want to fix it. I couldn’t bear the thought of explaining Anja and Max to my father, telling him why the deal he’d made with Konstantin Zoric was ending.
In fact, I still wasn’t sure I wanted to speak to my father ever again.
I’d had dinner with Michelle the night I arrived, and I’d tried not to stare at her across the table, but I couldn’t help searching her face whenever she was distracted, looking for hints that she knew the truth behind my father’s connection with KZM and their shady underground businesses. But all I saw was a woman who’d done her best to raise me, who loved me like her own. A trophy wife who’d tried to prepare me for a life of ease and relative luxury, just like hers.
I didn’t want to believe she knew the truth behind what my father did. Behind the money he raised to run his campaigns.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she’d asked, over a meal of all my favorite comfort foods: buttery mashed potatoes, fried chicken, glazed carrots. I hadn’t been able to eat a bite.
“I can’t,” I’d managed, right before excusing myself to go cry in the bathroom again.
Michelle had agreed when I requested that she and the house staff not answer any calls from Stefan. A clean break seemed like the best way to go. I hadn’t even brought my phone with me when I left, tucking it in a bottom drawer of the desk in the guest room after arranging for a car. Stefan would have just tried to track me with it anyway. Though I was regretting it now that I was so isolated. I’d have to get a new phone soon, if only to text Grace and call myself Ubers when necessary.
My stepmother hadn’t asked too many questions just yet, but I knew that she wouldn’t remain silent forever. And though I was fairly certain she hadn’t told my father I was home, he’d be back soon enough. At some point I’d have to admit why I was back and what I planned to do.
Just the thought of my husband made my heart ache.
Forcing myself out of bed on Wednesday, I resolved to hit the pause button on my grief and figure out my next steps. Even if those steps were more grieving. I just couldn’t sit around waiting for someone else to figure out my life for me. Looking back, that was exactly what had gotten me into this mess in the first place. It was time to take action. Make some choices.
My first choice was a hot shower, my second was jeans and a sweater, and my third was to go find coffee. Giving myself plenty of credit for getting so far before noon, despite feeling like my world had shattered, I headed downstairs. The kitchen was empty, which was a relief.
I didn’t want any company.
On the counter sat a bright pink box stamped with the name of my favorite bakery. Michelle knew well my weakness for pastries. It was sweet of her to try and care for me, and she was clearly also giving me space and not pushing me right now, which I appreciated. I grabbed a flaky croissant, but gave up once I’d had a few bites. Everything tasted like ash in my mouth.
After reheating what was left in the coffee pot from that morning and adding a liberal amount of vanilla creamer, I curled up in the window seat that looked out into the backyard and stared out at the rose garden that was rapidly dying in the face of the approaching winter.
A surge of guilt ran through me for running away like this, but I knew that in the end, Stefan would understand. He’d see that I had left out of love for him—that I wanted him to be happy. Maybe I should have left him a note, but I knew that if I’d told him where I was going, he would have come to Springfield immediately to talk me out of it. He would have probably done everything in his power to convince me that he still loved me and I would have believed him.
Because I would have wanted to believe it.
And I knew that Stefan would have wanted to believe it too.
I also knew that it would have just prolonged the inevitable. That eventually, Stefan would realize that he belonged with Anja—and his son. Their son. It was only right.
As I sipped my warmed-over coffee, I tried to re-envision my future. Maybe, if I was divorced and single again, and officially over eighteen, I could apply for federal financial aid. Get approved for a loan to cover my tuition and the cost of student housing. My girlfriends lived in the dorms, ate in the student cafeteria, worked part-time jobs. I could do that, too. I might have to take the rest of the school year off and reapply for admission again next fall, but I’d manage. It would be hard—and I would be alone—but I would survive. I’d be on a path.
The main house phone rang, startling me from my thoughts. I cringed, wondering if it was Stefan again. I’d seen his number on the caller ID multiple times since I’d disappeared last night, but nobody had picked up his calls, per my request. But this time it wasn’t Stefan’s name on the digital screen—it wasZoric, Mara. My sister-in-law Emzee.
Part of me knew it would be best to ignore the call like I had Stefan’s, but I couldn’t resist. I wanted to talk to Emzee. I needed her. She was the closest thing to a sister I’d ever had. And I knew I could trust her to keep my location a secret.
