I watched her get into the idling black sedan, my hand resting unconsciously on the silver cross necklace beneath my scarf.
At eleven o’clock that night, the lock on the front door finally turned, and Ryan walked into the apartment.
He did not take off his coat or greet me; instead, he walked straight into the bedroom and pulled his heavy tan leather suitcase from the top shelf of the closet.
“We need to talk about the Cabo receipt, Ryan,” I said, standing in the bedroom doorway.
He began throwing his shirts into the suitcase, his movements fast and erratic.
“I was going to tell you tomorrow morning,” he said, his voice rapid and dismissive. “But since you’re asking, there is no point in waiting.”
“Who is Savannah Brooks to you?” I asked, my hand tightening around the silver band on my finger.
“She is the future of this company, and she is my partner,” he said, finally looking at me, his index finger tapping the gold watch on his wrist. “Our marriage has run its course, Claire. I am leaving for Cabo with her tonight.”
I adjusted the silver band on my right hand, my fingers completely numb. “You are leaving? We are expecting triplets in less than three months.”
“We built a life here, Ryan,” I said, my back pressing against the wooden doorframe of our bedroom. “We planned to raise our children in this neighborhood.”
“You planned,” he said, throwing a handful of silk ties into the leather bag. “I survived. I spent years carrying the weight of your family’s expectations and your cautious, slow-moving ideas. I am thirty-four years old, Claire. I am not going to spend the rest of my life trapped in a Brooklyn walk-up with spreadsheets and baby bottles.”
“I will set up a corporate allowance for you through the firm,” he said, snapping the left lock of his suitcase shut with a sharp metallic click. “But I need you to focus on the future, Claire, because our past is officially over.”
He picked up his car keys from the dresser, ignoring the silver cross necklace I had left on the wooden tray.
