Maybe disbelief.
Maybe the realization that cruelty often sounded ridiculous when spoken confidently enough.
I turned toward Ethan.
"Are you sleeping with her?"
He sighed.
"Does it matter now?"
"Yes."
"Fine."
He looked at Vanessa.
Then back at me.
"We're together."
No apology.
No shame.
No hesitation.
"How long?"
"Claire."
"How long?"
"Almost a year."
I closed my eyes.
Almost a year.
That meant during fertility treatments.
During the high-risk pregnancy.
During the nights I vomited until my throat hurt.
During the appointment when we learned we were having triplets.
During the weeks I was ordered onto partial bed rest.
During all of it.
I opened my eyes again.
"Did you ever plan to tell me?"
"I am telling you."
"No. You're serving me papers."
His expression hardened.
"This marriage hasn't worked for a long time."
"For whom?"
"Both of us."
"Don't speak for me."
Vanessa shifted impatiently.
"Ethan, we should go."
He nodded.
Then he looked at me.
"Just sign first."
I studied the settlement.
The lake house was listed as marital property.
So was my grandmother's investment account.
So were shares of Mercer Logistics.
I almost admired the audacity.
Almost.
"Your lawyer wrote this?"
"Yes."
"He thinks the lake house is marital property?"
"We've used it during the marriage."
"That isn't what I asked."
"Claire, don't start acting like an accountant."
There it was.
The old contempt.
Ethan had once loved that I was good with numbers.
Later, he decided it made me difficult.
