The nurse never came back to stitch me up.

I sat on a plastic chair for forty minutes, watching the hallway clock. Then I peeled the tape off the back of my hand and pulled the IV line out.

A bead of blood swelled up. I pressed my thumb on it.

"Ma'am?" A young orderly stopped his cart. "You can't just leave. You haven't been discharged."

"Then bill my husband," I said. "He's in room nine, peeling apples."

Outside, the cold hit my face like a slap. I dug through my bag for my keys before I remembered. My car was a folded tin can on the FDR.

Fine. I would take a cab to the penthouse, grab the spare SUV from the garage, and drive myself somewhere quiet.

The cab pulled up. I slid in, and my leg screamed.

"Where to?"

"Fifty-Seventh and Park."

The driver pulled into traffic. Two blocks later, my stomach rolled. My mouth filled with spit. I pictured the bedroom that still smelled like Adrian's cologne.

I pictured him walking in at midnight, telling me to be rational.

"Change of plans," I said. "Take me to Carroll Gardens. Brooklyn."

The driver glanced in the mirror. "You okay, lady? You're kinda gray."

"I'm capable," I said, and laughed until it turned into a cough.

...

Nora Bell opened her door in sweatpants and a face mask. The mask cracked when her mouth fell open.

"Evie. Oh my God. Is that blood? Is that *your* blood?"

She yanked me inside and pushed me down onto her couch. Her cat bolted under the radiator.

"Don't move." She ran for the bathroom and came back with a first-aid kit the size of a toolbox. "What happened? Who did this? Do I need a shovel?"

"Car accident. FDR."

"And you came *here*? Not home?" She soaked a cotton pad and dabbed my forehead. I winced. "Sorry, sorry. Hold still. Where's Adrian?"

I didn't answer.

Nora stopped dabbing. "Evelyn. Where is your husband?"

"With Serena." I stared at her bookshelf.

"Serena. College Serena?"

"She had a scraped elbow."

The cotton pad hit the coffee table with a wet slap.

"He *left* you for a scraped elbow?"

"He didn't leave me. He just didn't come." I held out my right arm. The emergency bandage had slipped and soaked through. "He was in a meeting. Then he wasn't."

Nora unwound the old gauze with tight, angry fingers. She muttered the whole time.

"That smug, cuff-linked, golf-playing piece of garbage. I'm going to key his Porsche. I'm going to put shrimp in his air vents."

"He said I was paranoid." My voice came out flat. "In the hallway. Loud. He said nobody would look twice at me without the Vale name."

Her hands froze on my arm.

"He said I'd come back. Because of the penthouse. The cards."

Nora wrapped fresh gauze around my forearm, slower now. Careful.

"Evie, you were a senior strategist at Halbrook. You had a corner office before you were thirty."

"I know."

"You quit."

"Because somebody had to run the house and the dinners and the charity boards." My throat closed up. I forced the words through anyway. "I learned how he likes his coffee. Which client hates shellfish. Which tie he wears when he's nervous. I never touched his money, Nora. I never even wanted the ring that big."

She taped the gauze down without a word.

"I married him because I loved him," I said. "That's it. That's the whole stupid reason."

Nora sat back on her heels. Her eyes were wet, but her voice came out hard.

"I know that. I've always known that." She took a breath. "But he doesn't, babe. He never did."

"What do you mean?"

"Your wedding. The reception. I went out for air and heard him on the terrace with his groomsmen." She looked away. "One of them joked that you hit the jackpot. And Adrian said, 'Everybody's got a price. At least hers is pretty.'"

The room went very quiet. Even the radiator stopped hissing.

"You never told me that."

"You were glowing. You were so happy." Nora gripped my good hand. "I thought he'd grow out of it. I was wrong. Divorce him, Evie. Fast. Before he figures out how to make you the villain."

I looked down at my wedding band. It had a smear of dried blood on it.

"Tomorrow," I said. "I'm finding a job."

"Tomorrow you're resting."

"Tomorrow I'm finding a job. I'm done being something he pays for."

...

Lark & Pruitt Brand Group sat on the forty-first floor of a glass tower in Hudson Yards. I wore Nora's blazer over my bandaged arm and swept my bangs over the stitches the urgent care clinic had finally given me that morning.

The interviewer, Dana Okafor, flipped through my portfolio twice.

"You built the Halbrook luxury rebrand?"

"I led it."

"That campaign is still taught in grad school." She closed the folder and smiled. "Your career gap doesn't bother me. Honestly, I'd hire you today. I just need Martin to sign off. Can you wait in the hall?"

"Of course."

I sat on a leather bench outside the CEO's office. My leg ached. My heart was racing anyway, the good kind of racing. The kind I hadn't felt in four years.

Martin Kessler's door was open a crack. His phone was on speaker.

"Adrian! Good to hear from you. How's the Hartley thing?"

My spine went rigid.

"Closing next week." My husband's voice. Smooth. Warm. "Listen, Martin, I need a favor. You've got that associate strategist role open?"

"We do. Actually, Dana's got a strong candidate right—"

"Hold it for me. I have someone. Serena Whitmore."

I gripped my résumé so hard the paper buckled.

"Serena... is she in branding?"

"She did some freelance. Instagram stuff." A soft laugh. "Look, she needs something light, something with good people around her. You'd be doing me a personal favor."

"What if I say no?"

"The Vale account renewal would go very smoothly."

A pause. Then Martin chuckled. "Tell her to come on Monday."

"You're a good friend, Martin."

I stood up. Dana was walking toward me down the hall, my file in her hand, her face already falling.

"Evelyn, I'm so sorry. Something's come up—"

"I heard."

"It's not about you. You're the most qualified person I've seen all year."

"I know," I said. "That's the funny part."

I dropped the crumpled résumé in the trash can by the elevator. The doors closed on her stunned face.

...

Nora was waiting with takeout when I got back to Brooklyn.

"Well? Corner office? Stock options?"

"Serena got it."

The chopsticks slipped out of her hand. "*What?*"

"He called the CEO while I was sitting outside the door. Said she needed the position to recover." I sank onto the couch. "He didn't even know I was there. He wasn't trying to hurt me. He just never thought about me at all."

Nora opened her mouth. Shut it. Then she grabbed a pillow and screamed into it.

My phone buzzed on the cushion.

Adrian.

Come home when you've calmed down.

I read it once. Then again. Five words, and not one of them was *are you hurt*.

"What does he want?" Nora asked, muffled by the pillow.

"Me. Calm. Quiet. Grateful."

I opened his contact. My thumb hovered over the screen.

Block this caller.

I pressed it.

The screen went still, and for the first time in two days, so did my hands.

My mother answered the door before I could knock twice.

"Evelyn. What on earth happened to your face?"

"Car accident. I'm okay."

She stepped aside, her eyes already moving past me to the street. "Where's Adrian?"

"That's why I'm here."

My father sat in his leather chair in the den with the *Journal* folded across his knee. He didn't stand. He took in my bandaged arm, my limp, the bangs combed over my stitches.

"You look terrible," Richard Hart said. "Sit."

I stayed on my feet. My leg throbbed, but sitting felt like surrender.

"I'm divorcing Adrian."

The newspaper slid off his knee and hit the rug.

My mother laughed, a light, social laugh. The kind she used at charity galas when someone told a bad joke. "Don't be dramatic, sweetheart."

"He left me bleeding in the ER to hold Serena Whitmore's hand. Then he got her a job I was interviewing for."

"Serena who?" Mom asked.

"It doesn't matter who," Dad cut in. He rose at last, and his face had gone dark red. "Do you know what's on my desk right now? The Riverside development. Vale Group is carrying forty percent of the financing. Forty, Evelyn."

"I didn't ask about your project."

"You're about to blow it up." He jabbed a finger at the window, like the deal was parked outside. "Two years of work. And you want to throw it away because your husband visited a sick friend?"

"I had an accident but he was with another woman and didn't show up."

"And you survived."

Mom took my good hand and squeezed it, too hard. Her rings bit my knuckles.

"Listen to me. Men stray. Men get distracted. A smart wife doesn't make it a war. She makes him miss her." She tipped her chin up. "You go home tonight. Wear the green dress. Apologize for the scene at the hospital."

"Apologize. To him."

"Yes."

"Mom, he called me paranoid in front of strangers."

"Then don't give him reasons." Her voice dropped and went cold. "And understand this. If you walk out on that marriage, don't come running here. No a dime from this family."

I pulled my hand back. I'd thought I was done being hurt this week. I was wrong.

"Good to know where I stand."

The doorbell rang.

Mom's face lit up. "That'll be him. I called him the second I saw you on the porch."

...

Adrian walked in with his coat open and his jaw set hard. He kissed my mother's cheek. He shook my father's hand. Only then did he turn to me.

"You blocked my number. My wife vanishes from a hospital against medical advice, and I hear about it from an orderly." He shook his head. "You took a misunderstanding and turned it into a war, Evie."

"It's not a misunderstanding."

"Serena is a friend. She's alone in this city. Someone has to look out for her." He stepped aside. "And she wanted to see you. To fix this."

Serena drifted in from the hallway in a cream sweater. The bandage on her elbow looked fresh, almost decorative. Her eyes were already shining.

"Evelyn." Her voice wobbled. "I'm so, so sorry."

Nobody spoke. My father crossed his arms. My mother put on her hostess smile.

"I never wanted to hurt your marriage. Never." Serena twisted her fingers together. "After the crash, I just… I froze. I couldn't stop shaking. And I don't have anyone. My parents are gone. My brother doesn't speak to me. Adrian was the only one I knew in this city."

She looked up at him through wet lashes.

"I don't have a family to run to. Not like you do."

Adrian's throat moved. He reached out and touched her shoulder, and his whole body softened.

"You don't need to explain yourself to her," he said quietly.

"I do. She thinks I'm a monster."

Mom hissed my name. Serena turned away, shoulders trembling.

I picked up my bag. "I'm leaving."

...

I made it to the top of the staircase before I heard soft footsteps behind me.

"Evelyn, wait."

Serena held a glass of hot water she had brought from the kitchen. Steam curled off the top.

"You forgot to say goodbye," she said. The tremble had left her voice.

"Move."

"He'll never pick you. You know that, right?" She smiled. "He feels sorry for me. You, he just feels stuck with."

Then she tilted the glass.

Hot water spilled across her own wrist. Then she screamed.

"Adrian!"

He took the stairs at once. Serena collapsed against the railing, cradling her arm. The skin was already flushed an angry pink.

"She threw it at me," Serena sobbed. "I only wanted to talk. She threw it."

"I didn't touch her."

Adrian grabbed Serena's wrist and turned it toward the light. A muscle jumped in his cheek. When he looked up at me, I didn't recognize him.

"What is wrong with you?"

"She poured it on herself."

"Listen to yourself!" His voice cracked through the house. "You're out of control. You're insane, and now you're hurting her. This has to stop."

He pulled out his phone. "Gordon. Bring the papers to the Hart house. Now."

...

Gordon Pike arrived within the hour, briefcase already packed. He laid the agreement on my father's desk like a dinner menu.

I flipped through it. Then flipped again, slower.

"Four years, and I leave with my clothes." My fingers left a smudge on the page.

"You left with my respect a long time ago," Adrian said.

Serena sat on the sofa with an ice pack on her wrist, sniffling. My mother was holding the ice pack for her.

My father cleared his throat. "Evelyn. Apologize to the girl. Tell Adrian you made a mistake, and we can all forget it."

"She burned herself, Dad."

"Enough!" He slammed his palm on the desk. "Say sorry and end this."

Mom didn't look at me. She adjusted Serena's ice pack.

My leg burned. My arm ached under the gauze. The stitches on my forehead pulled every time I frowned. Everyone in that room was waiting for me to crawl.

But I picked up Gordon's pen.

"Evie," Adrian said. Something flickered across his face. Doubt, maybe. "Think about what you're doing."

"I did. For four years."

I signed. Evelyn Hart. Not Vale.

Then I twisted the ring off my finger. It caught on the knuckle, and I pulled harder until it came free.

I set it on top of my signature.

"There," I said. "Now you can finally take care of her without any burden."

Adrian stared at the ring. He didn't pick it up.