Sophie's text came through.

The house is in your name. Your paperwork's solid. Don't go soft on her.

Moira came home at noon.

She handed me a cup of warm water.

"I lost my head last night. This weekend I'll go with you to pick out the suit."

I looked at the cup.

There was still a temperature label stuck to the bottom, the kind Ronald used.

Forty-five degrees.

I didn't take it.

Her phone buzzed.

A voice message from Ronald.

"Moira, the throw's a little damp. I can't fall asleep."

Moira picked up the car keys.

"I'll run it to the dry cleaner and ask. I'll be back soon."

I asked, "What about the suit?"

She stood in the doorway.

"That's not urgent."

I looked down and submitted the early-payoff appointment.

A confirmation popped up on the screen.

I tapped confirm.

She was busy saving a throw blanket.

I was busy taking apart a marriage.

Moira had promised to come with me to the hotel tasting.

I'd booked the slot two weeks ahead.

Her parents had foods they couldn't eat, and I'd noted it three times.

Just before we left, Ronald called.

He said he didn't dare go to his psych follow-up alone.

Moira glanced at me.

"You go ahead. I'll take him to his appointment and meet you there."

I picked up the car keys.

"Fine."

She let out a breath of relief.

"Dirk, I knew you'd be the bigger man about it."

I let the line go by without answering.

The hotel manager brought out the seating chart for the reception.

There was an extra name beside the head table.

Ronald Henson.

The note was very detailed.

Away from the speakers.

Away from the lights.

Close to the lounge.

So Miss Gilbert could keep an eye on him.

I held the pen.

"Who changed this?"

The manager checked his computer.

"Miss Gilbert called last night to confirm it."

I set the pen down.

"The head table is for the bride's and groom's parents."

The manager gave an awkward smile.

"Miss Gilbert said Mr. Henson's situation is special."

Half an hour later, Moira arrived.

Ronald trailed in behind her.

He had the cashmere throw draped over his shoulders, a folder of medical records clutched in his hand.

"Dirk, maybe I shouldn't have come?"

I looked at Moira.

She stepped in front of him.

"He should get used to the venue ahead of time, so nothing goes wrong on the day."

I asked, "It's my wedding. Who approved him getting used to it?"

Ronald's eyes went red.

Moira's face hardened.

"Don't take it out on him. He can't handle a single harsh word."

I opened the menu.

"Then he shouldn't be here."

The tasting began.

The first dish, a fish, came out.

Ronald covered his mouth.

"Too fishy."

Moira called the manager over at once.

"Replace this one."

The second course, a soup, was set down.

He frowned.

"The flavor's too strong."

Moira said, "Replace that too."

The manager looked at me.

I pushed the menu across.

"Do whatever Miss Gilbert says."

They played the music sample.

It was the warm-up song I'd chosen.

Ronald bowed his head and gripped the throw.

"That sound presses on me. I can't breathe."

Moira turned.

"Switch it to the white-noise piano track."

I looked at her.

"Are the guests coming to a wedding, or to sleep?"

She lowered her voice.

"Dirk, the wedding is just a formality. Ronald can't be overstimulated."

I asked, "And me?"

She paused.

"You've always been stronger than him."

The words settled onto the table.

I closed the folder.

Ronald spoke up softly.

"Maybe I just won't come, so you two don't fight."

Moira grabbed his wrist at once.

"No one's telling you to leave."

I saw her hand clearly.

Only then did she catch herself and let go.

Ronald's breathing went ragged.

Moira helped him to his feet.

"I'll see him out first. You settle the balance."

The manager held out the bill.

I didn't sign it.

"The wedding date's on hold."

The manager froze.

"Mr. Fox, the deposit may not be refundable."

"Go by the contract."

While Moira was easing Ronald into the car, Fern called me.

"Mr. Fox, if you're serious about selling that place, I've got a cash buyer."

I watched Moira pull the car door shut for Ronald.

"I'm serious."

Fern asked,

"And the price?"

"Below market. Negotiable."

Back home, I canceled the venue date.

I filed a termination request on the tuxedo contract too.

A message came in from Moira.

"Ronald's stable now. Don't blow today out of proportion."

I sent back two words.

"Too late."

She didn't reply again.

I downloaded a property sale contract template.

The wedding could go on without me.

And the house could do without her.

At nine in the morning, I went to the bank.

The clerk wrote the early-payoff penalty on a slip of paper.

"Mr. Fox, this isn't a small amount. You're sure you want to do this?"

I signed.

"I'm sure."

She reminded me again.

"Once the lien's cleared, the property can be sold."

I slid my ID across.

"I know."

As I walked out of the bank, Moira texted.

"What do you want for lunch?"

I wrote back,

"Come home early tonight. We need to talk about the house."

She replied,

"Okay. This time I'll really listen to you."

I put my phone in my pocket.

That afternoon, Fern brought the buyer to see the house.

Ahead of time, I'd bagged Ronald's pill case, his sleep machine, his diffuser, and his slippers into a clear bag.

The bag sat by the entry.

The buyer's wife noticed the silk bedding in the master bedroom.

"It's in great shape. Can it stay?"

I said,

"The bedding doesn't stay."

The buyer's husband glanced at the balcony.

"Why the rush to sell?"

I handed him a copy of the deed.

"Relocating to another city."

Fern pulled me aside.

"You're cutting too deep on the price. They'll still try to haggle."

"Cash is fast. The price is negotiable."

She looked at me.

"You've made up your mind."

"Yes."

In the early evening, Moira came home.

She saw the storage boxes in the living room.

"Packing up the wedding things?"

I set the settlement spreadsheet on the coffee table.

"Sit."

She saw the spreadsheet, and her face changed.

"Dirk, you're really doing this?"

"Me sleeping on the couch last night was real too."

She sat down.

"You go first."

I opened to the first page.

"Down payment was three million. I put in two, you put in one."

She nodded.

"That I'll own."

"Renovations, seven-eighty-six thousand. I paid that."

"I covered the bulk of the monthly payments."

"HOA fees, appliances, furnishings. I paid for those."

She rubbed at her brow.

"You're tallying all this up now. What's the point?"

"There's a point."

Her phone started buzzing.

Ronald's name flashed on the screen.

She dismissed it.

It rang a second time.

The third time, he sent a voice message.

"Moira, I'm alone in the master bedroom, and the window looks like it's falling away. I don't want to live."

Moira stood up.

I stepped in front of her.

"You walk out tonight, and there's nothing left to talk about."

She grabbed her car keys.

"He's sick, Dirk. Don't push me into being some cold-blooded person."

I looked at her.

"The night my stomach was killing me, you were plenty cold-blooded."

Her face went rigid.

The door shut.

Her footsteps faded.

I opened my banking app.

I entered the transfer amount, the money she was owed back.

A few months of payments, prorated.

The furniture depreciation, settled.

Memo: property and shared expenses settled in full.

Confirm transfer.

Moira called soon after.

I didn't pick up.

I took the deed, the lien-release receipt, my ID, and the spare key.

At the title office window, the buyer and his wife had already arrived.

Fern handed the documents to the clerk.

My phone kept buzzing.

The screen was nothing but Moira's name.

The clerk verified my identity.

"Property owner Dirk Fox. Documents are complete."

I set the title certificate in the tray.

The clerk looked up.

"Mr. Fox, do you confirm you're selling this property voluntarily?"

Behind me came Moira's voice.

"Dirk Fox, you sell this house and see what happens."