The rooftop bar was strung with Edison bulbs and filled with people who smiled too much. I hadn't wanted to come. But staying home meant sitting in the house where Dalton slept like a man without a conscience, and I couldn't do that for one more night.

I wore the black dress. The one that made me look like I had my life together.

Kori was already there when I arrived. She was leaning against the railing in a red slip dress, her hair loose, one hand wrapped around a champagne flute. Dalton stood next to her. His hand wasn't touching her, but it was close. Close enough that everyone could see the space between them and fill it in themselves.

She saw me first. Her face lit up like I'd just made her whole evening.

"Everly!" She pushed off the railing and crossed the terrace with her arms out. "Oh my god, sweetie, I'm so glad you came."

She hugged me. In front of everyone. Her perfume was the floral smell I'd caught on Dalton's collar last week.

I stood very still and let her do it.

When she pulled back, she kept one hand on my arm. Her thumb rubbed a small circle on my wrist like we were close. Like we'd ever been close.

"How are you holding up?" Her voice dropped half an octave, all concern. "With the whole situation. I know it's been hard."

Behind her, Dalton was watching. Not stopping her. Just watching.

I looked at Kori's hand on my wrist. At the smile that didn't reach her eyes. At the way she tilted her head like she was the kind of woman who cared.

"I'm fine," I said.

"Are you sure?" She squeezed. "Because if you ever need to talk—"

I pulled my arm free.

She blinked. Her smile flickered.

I crossed the space between us and slapped her.

The sound cracked across the terrace. Conversations stopped. Heads turned. Kori's hand flew to her cheek, her mouth open, her eyes wide like she couldn't believe I'd just done that in front of people.

I turned to Dalton.

He was staring at me like I'd lost my mind.

I slapped him harder.

His head snapped to the side. Someone gasped. A glass hit the ground and shattered.

For three seconds, nobody moved.

Then Dalton's hand came up to his jaw. His eyes went dark. He stepped past me — stepped around me like I was a piece of furniture — and pulled Kori behind him. His back blocked her completely. His hand cupped her face, tilting it toward the light.

"Are you okay?" His voice was low. Gentle. The voice he used to use on me.

"I'm fine," Kori whispered. She wasn't fine. Her eyes were wet. She was playing it perfectly.

"Let me see."

He turned her face side to side, checking for damage. His thumb brushed her cheekbone. She leaned into it.

I stood three feet away and watched my husband comfort the woman he was fucking.

Nobody looked at me. A few people had their phones out. Someone was definitely filming. I didn't care.

I turned and walked toward the exit.

Behind me, Kori's voice rose just loud enough to carry. "I don't know what I did. I was just trying to be nice—"

I kept walking.

The terrace opened onto a parking area. I stepped off the curb and heard the engine too late.

The car wasn't going fast. Maybe fifteen miles an hour. But it was enough.

The bumper caught my hip and I went down hard. My palms hit asphalt. My knee cracked against concrete. The taste of copper flooded my mouth where I'd bitten my tongue.

The car stopped. The door opened. A man's voice, high and panicked. "Oh my god, I didn't see you, are you okay, I'm so sorry—"

I pushed myself up. My palms were scraped raw, gravel embedded in the skin. My ribs screamed. My knee was torn open, blood running down my shin into my shoe.

I looked back at the terrace.

Dalton was still standing with Kori. His back was still to me. He hadn't moved.

He hadn't even turned around.

A woman in a blue coat knelt beside me. Not someone I knew. Just a stranger who'd seen me fall.

"Can you stand?" she asked.

I nodded. She helped me up. My knee buckled and she caught me.

"I'm calling an ambulance," she said.

"No." My voice came out steady. "Just a cab."

She looked at me like I was insane. Maybe I was. But I wasn't going to bleed on a rooftop terrace while my husband held another woman's face.

The cab came. The woman helped me into the back seat. I didn't get her name.

At home, I stood over the bathroom sink and picked gravel out of my palms with tweezers. The water ran pink. My ribs were already bruising, a dark bloom spreading under my skin. My knee wouldn't stop bleeding.

I wrapped it in gauze. I took four ibuprofen. I sat on the edge of the tub and stared at the tile.

Six days left.

The bathrobe arrived on the fourth day.

I found the box on the doorstep when I came back from physical therapy. My knee was still wrapped. My ribs still screamed when I breathed too deep. The package had no return address. Just my name in neat block letters.

I opened it in the kitchen.

Inside was my bathrobe. The white one with the embroidered collar. The one I'd left hanging in the master bathroom when I moved my things to the guest room.

It smelled like her perfume.

There was a note tucked in the pocket. Thanks for letting me borrow this! So soft. — K

I held it for a long time. Then I walked it to the trash can and dropped it in.

The flowers came the next morning.

Two dozen white roses in a crystal vase. The card said: For Mrs. Hawkins — the new one.

The delivery man waited while I signed. He smiled like he thought he was part of something romantic.

I set the vase on the kitchen island. I didn't throw them out. I wanted Dalton to see them when he got home.

He came in at seven. He saw the flowers. He picked up the card and read it. His face didn't change.

"Kori has a weird sense of humor," he said.

He put the card down and opened the fridge.

I stood at the counter and watched him pull out a beer. Twist the cap. Take a long drink.

"That's it?" I said.

"What do you want me to say?" He didn't look at me. "She's trying to get a rise out of you. Don't give her one."

"She sent my bathrobe back."

He paused. Just for a second. Then he took another drink.

"I'll talk to her."

He didn't.

That night I heard him on the phone in the bedroom. His voice was low. I couldn't make out the words. But I heard him laugh.

I sat on the guest bed with my laptop and scrolled through apartment listings in San Francisco. One bedroom. Hardwood floors. Close to my father's house.

Five days left.

On the sixth day, Dalton came home early.

I was in the kitchen making tea. My knee was better. I could walk without limping. The bruises on my ribs had started to fade from black to green.

He dropped his keys on the counter. The sound was too loud.

"We need to talk," he said.

I poured the hot water. Watched the tea bag bloom.

"Okay."

"This has to stop."

I looked at him. He was standing with his arms crossed. His jaw was tight. He looked like a man who'd been building to this conversation for days.

"What has to stop?" I asked.

"The scenes. The drama. Slapping Kori in front of half of Seattle." He shook his head. "It's embarrassing, Everly. For both of us."

I set the kettle down. Very carefully.

"Embarrassing," I repeated.

"Yes." He leaned against the counter. "I know this is hard. I know you're upset. But you need to accept reality and move on."

The tea bag floated in the mug. I watched it turn the water amber.

"Was she ever just a friend?" I asked.

His arms tightened across his chest.

"What?"

"Kori." I looked at him. "You told me for three years she was just a friend. One of the guys. Was that ever true?"

His jaw worked. He looked away. Looked at the flowers still sitting on the island. Looked back at me.

"That's a ridiculous question."

"Is it?"

"Yes." He pushed off the counter. Crossed to the coffee maker. Poured himself a cup even though it was six in the evening and he never drank coffee after three. "You're trying to rewrite history because you're hurt. I get it. But it doesn't change the facts."

"What are the facts?"

He took a drink. Didn't answer.

"Dalton."

"The fact is," he said, "we're getting divorced. The fact is, you need to let go. The fact is, making a scene every time you see me with someone else just makes you look—"

He stopped.

"Look what?" My voice was very quiet.

He set the mug down. Picked up his keys.

"I have a meeting," he said.

He walked out.

I stood in the kitchen and listened to the front door close. Listened to his car start. Listened to the sound fade down the street.

Then I picked up my phone and called my father.

"I need the movers," I said. "Four days from now."

"I'll have them there at eight," he said.

I hung up. I looked at the flowers on the island. At the card still sitting next to the vase.

I picked up the whole arrangement and walked it to the trash. The vase shattered when it hit the bottom.

Four days left.

The Hawkins estate sat on three acres in Bellevue. White columns. Circular drive. The kind of house that appeared in architectural magazines with captions about old money and good taste.

I pulled up at seven. My knee was healed enough that I only limped when I was tired. The bruises on my ribs had faded to yellow.

I wore navy. Simple. Nothing that could be called a statement.

Dalton's mother met me at the door. Her smile was tight. The kind of smile people use at funerals.

"Everly." She touched my arm. "I'm so glad you could come."

She wasn't glad. She was uncomfortable. She knew what her son had done and she didn't know where to put her eyes.

"Thank you for having me," I said.

Inside, the house smelled like roasted lamb and lilies. Dalton's father stood by the fireplace with a scotch. He nodded at me. Didn't come over.

Dalton was in the living room. Kori was next to him on the sofa, her legs tucked under her, one hand resting on his knee. She wore white. Of course she wore white.

She saw me and smiled. Wiggled her fingers in a little wave.

I looked away.

"Everly!"

Millie appeared in the doorway. She was eight. Dark braids. Gap-toothed smile. She ran across the room and wrapped her arms around my waist.

"You came! I thought you weren't coming!"

I hugged her back. Her head pressed against my ribs and I felt the ache but I didn't let go.

"I wouldn't miss it," I said.

"Come see my dress. I got it for the school play. I'm a tree."

She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the hallway. I glanced back once. Dalton was watching. Kori was whispering something in his ear. He didn't stop me.

Dinner was lamb and roasted vegetables and a tension so thick I could taste it under the rosemary. Dalton's brother Nathan sat across from me. Millie sat next to him. Kori sat next to Dalton at the head of the table. She laughed too loud. Touched his arm too often. Dalton's mother refilled her wine glass and didn't look at anyone.

I ate. I answered when spoken to. I watched the clock on the mantel.

Three days left.

After dinner, the adults moved to the sitting room. Millie tugged on my sleeve.

"Come upstairs. I want to show you the costume."

I followed her into the hallway. The grand staircase curved up to the second floor. Dark wood. Iron railing. Millie was already halfway up, chattering about how her teacher said she had the best tree posture in the whole class.

I stopped at the bottom. My knee was starting to ache.

"Millie, can you bring it down? I'll wait here."

She turned on the landing. "It's in my room. Come on, it's not far."

I heard the click of heels behind me.

Kori's voice was bright. "Need help?"

I turned. She was standing in the hallway. Alone. Her smile was wide and her eyes were flat.

"We're fine," I said.

I turned back to Millie. She was at the top now, disappearing down the hall.

"Millie, wait—"

I heard the movement behind me. Fast. Purposeful.

I turned just as Kori lunged past me and up three stairs. Millie had come back to the top of the staircase, leaning over the railing.

Kori's hands shot out. She shoved Millie. Hard. Both palms flat against the child's chest.

Millie's eyes went wide. Her mouth opened. She didn't even scream.

She fell backward. Her body hit the stairs. Once. Twice. Tumbling. Her head cracked against the railing. She landed at the bottom in a heap. One arm bent wrong. Not moving.

For one second, the house was silent.

Then Kori screamed.

"She pushed her!" Kori's voice was ragged. Hysterical. She pointed at me with a shaking hand. "Everly pushed her! I saw it! Oh my god, she pushed Millie!"

Footsteps thundered. Dalton's mother appeared first. She saw Millie and her hand flew to her mouth.

Nathan shoved past me. Dropped to his knees beside his daughter. "Millie. Millie, baby, can you hear me?"

Dalton came last. He looked at Millie. At Nathan. At Kori, who was sobbing into her hands.

Then he looked at me.

I opened my mouth. No sound came out.

"You." His voice was low. Shaking. "You did this."

"I didn't—"

"She pushed her!" Kori's voice cracked. "I tried to stop her but I was too late. I saw the whole thing."

Dalton's mother was on the phone. Ambulance. Hurry. A child. Not breathing right.

Nathan looked up at me. His face was white. "Get out."

"Nathan, I swear, I didn't touch her—"

"GET OUT!"

Dalton crossed the space between us. His hand closed around my arm. His grip was iron.

"Dalton, please, listen to me—"

He dragged me toward the door. I stumbled. My knee buckled. He didn't slow down.

"You're insane," he said. His voice was quiet. Lethal. "You're fucking insane."

He shoved me out the front door. I caught myself on the railing. Behind him, Kori stood in the hallway. She was still crying. But when Dalton turned back toward the house, I saw her face.

She smiled.

Just for a second. Just for me.

Then the door slammed shut.