The nurse had already called my name when Claire caught my wrist in the clinic hallway and whispered, “Seven years, Tess. You waited seven years for this baby. Tell me what happened that was terrible enough to make you walk away now.”
Chapter 2
I went upstairs before either of them could see me cry.
Through the bedroom wall, I heard them laughing while Daniel cooked. Daniel, who often answered my questions with distracted grunts, discussed Madison’s dissertation, the weather, a conference in Denver, a hiking trip she wanted to take, and some obscure article she had read.
For her, he had words.
For me, he had a watch.
Near sunset, Madison finally left. Daniel came upstairs carrying soup from the little café I loved.
“You need to eat,” he said. “You’re pregnant.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
I stared at the man who did not yet know that there was no longer a child inside me.
He set the soup down. “And you owe Madison an apology.”
I looked up. “For what?”
“You were hostile.”
“She wore your clothes.”
“She spilled something on hers.”
“She sprayed disinfectant in my face.”
“She was teasing.”
“She likes you.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened. “Stop.”
“You let her drink after you.”
His eyes shifted.
Just once.
But I saw it.
I continued. “You keep food in our freezer because she likes it. You remember her dislikes. You forget mine even when forgetting mine can kill me.”
“You’re imagining things because you’re insecure.”
“I’m imagining the video?”
“She’s my best graduate student.”
“She’s a woman who behaves as though my husband belongs to her.”
Daniel’s face hardened.
“At least Madison has ambition. She has plans. She has a life outside this house. You spend your entire day worrying about groceries and laundry.”
I felt something inside me go silent.
“You asked me to quit my job.”
“That was years ago.”
“You begged me.”
I had worked in commercial baking after college and was beginning to build a career when Daniel received his first demanding faculty appointment. He complained that our schedules barely overlapped. He said he missed coming home to me.
“I can support us,” he had promised. “You don’t have to exhaust yourself anymore.”
I believed that staying home was something we chose together.
Now he used it as evidence that I had become small.
Daniel exhaled. “I shouldn’t have said that. You’re emotional right now.”
“Daniel—”
“It’s raining. I’m driving Madison home.”
He left before I could finish.
I waited on the couch until midnight.
Then two.
Then four.
He did not answer my calls.
At seven the next morning, he finally came home.
“Madison slipped outside her building,” he explained. “I took her to the ER. Her ankle was badly sprained.”
“You couldn’t send one message?”
“My phone died.”
“You couldn’t borrow a charger?”
“Tess, please. I’m exhausted.”
He went into the kitchen.
For one foolish moment, hope stirred. Daniel had always been a gifted cook. Years earlier, when stomach problems made eating difficult for me, he had spent months teaching himself recipes designed around what I could tolerate.
He cooked eggs, oatmeal, and soup.
Then packed all three into containers.
He slid a piece of toast toward me.
Strawberry jam glistened across it.
I hated strawberries.
“I need to take breakfast to Madison,” he said. “Can you wash the dishes?”
I stared at the toast.
“You really care about her.”
His head snapped around. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Would you drink after every injured student, too?”
Silence.
I stood.
“What happened to your germ phobia, Daniel?”
His cheeks flushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I reached into my purse and took out the clinic paperwork.
“Then read.”
I pressed it into his hand.
He glanced at the crumpled page as if it were another inconvenience.
I went upstairs.
When I returned ten minutes later, Daniel was gone.
The papers were in the trash.
He had not read them.
That afternoon, Claire arranged for a divorce attorney. I signed what I could, packed two suitcases, and booked a flight with her to Switzerland, where her cousin owned a small apartment near Lucerne.
I only needed Daniel’s signature.
He returned late that night drunk, leaning heavily on Madison.
“He drank too much at our research dinner,” she said brightly. “He was trying to keep everyone else from getting carried away.”
I stepped forward to help him.
Madison pulled him away.
“You probably shouldn’t touch him.”
I froze.
She smiled.
“You know how he is about germs.”
“Get him upstairs.”
She did.
Then she came back down alone.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” she asked.
“What?”
“Knowing your own husband can barely stand touching you.”
Something in her voice made me cold.
Madison moved closer. “He told me why.”
I said nothing.
“He said whenever he touches you, he remembers what those men did.”
The room tilted.
When Daniel and I were nineteen, his father had been drowning in gambling debt. I worked nights singing at a bar to help Daniel keep the family afloat. One evening, several drunk men cornered me behind the building.
They never completed what they intended.
But they came close enough.
Daniel had found me afterward.
He had held me while I shook and cried, promising that the nightmare would remain between us forever.
I had never told another soul.
Madison smiled.
“He said remembering you pinned down like that makes him sick.”
My hand moved before thought could stop it.
I slapped her.
She stumbled into the coffee table, striking her forehead.
Blood appeared near her hairline.
Madison screamed.
I grabbed the door and opened it.
“Get out.”
“You’re insane!”
“Get out of my house.”
After she left, I slid down the wall.
From upstairs, Daniel murmured my name in his drunken sleep.
For years, whenever he drank, I had taken off his shoes, wiped his face, changed his clothes, left water beside the bed, and made sure the curtains were closed so morning light wouldn’t wake him.
That night, I did none of those things.
I removed my wedding ring.
Then I placed it beside his on the dresser.
