My Husband Chose His Ex Over Our Baby

The call came at three in the afternoon.

I was in my office at Hunter Industries' media subsidiary, halfway through a presentation deck for the quarterly review, when my phone buzzed. Gael's name appeared on the screen. I stared at it for a moment before answering. He never called during work hours.

"Elliot." His voice was clipped, efficient. "I need you home by seven."

I set down my pen. "Is everything okay?"

"Just be there."

The line went dead.

I sat there with the phone still pressed to my ear, listening to silence. Then I saved my work, told Naomi I was leaving early, and drove back to the penthouse with a knot forming slowly in my chest.

Gael was in the living room when I arrived, standing by the window with his back to me. The late afternoon light cut across his shoulders. He didn't turn around.

"Priscilla is back," he said.

I stopped in the doorway. The name landed like a stone in still water.

"Back," I repeated.

"From London." He turned then, his expression unreadable. "She needs a place to stay. I told her she could use the master bedroom."

The words didn't register at first. I heard them, but they felt like sounds without meaning.

"The master bedroom," I said slowly.

He nodded once. "You can take the guest room. It's quieter anyway. You've said before the street noise bothers you."

I had never said that. I had never said anything about the street noise because I didn't notice it. I noticed other things. The cold side of the bed. The meals I ate alone. The way he looked through me when I spoke.

"For how long?" I asked.

He frowned, like the question was irrelevant. "As long as she needs."

I stood there in my coat, my bag still on my shoulder, and felt something inside me go very still.

"Okay," I said.

He was already looking at his phone again. "Good. She'll be here around eight. I'd appreciate it if you made her feel welcome."

I walked past him into the bedroom — our bedroom — and began opening drawers.

It didn't take long. I had never spread out the way people do when they feel at home. My clothes fit into three suitcases. My books, a single box. The framed photo of my parents went into my purse. I worked quickly and quietly, the way I did everything in this apartment, and by the time I heard the elevator chime in the foyer, I was closing the guest room door behind me.

I heard her voice first. Soft, musical, with a faint breathlessness that made every sentence sound like a confession.

"Gael, you didn't have to do all this."

"It's nothing," he said.

I stayed in the guest room. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the suitcases lined against the wall. The room was smaller than I remembered. The wallpaper was a pale gray I had never noticed before. There was a faint water stain in the corner of the ceiling.

I heard footsteps in the hall. Then the master bedroom door opened and closed.

I waited.

Around nine, I went to the kitchen for water. Priscilla was already there, leaning against the counter in a silk robe, holding a glass of wine. She looked up when I entered, and for a moment her face was blank. Then she smiled.

"You must be Elliot," she said warmly. "Gael's told me so much about you."

I filled my glass at the sink. "Has he."

"He said you've been so understanding." She tilted her head, her expression soft and sympathetic. "I hope this isn't too much of an inconvenience. The guest room actually has lovely light, doesn't it?"

I looked at her. She was beautiful. Delicate features, wide eyes, the kind of face that photographs well. She looked at me the way people look at furniture they're considering rearranging.

"It's fine," I said.

She smiled again and took a sip of wine. "I'm so glad."

I went back to the guest room and closed the door.

I didn't sleep that night. I lay in the narrow bed and listened to the sounds of the apartment. The hum of the refrigerator. The distant traffic. At some point, I heard Gael's voice through the wall, low and indistinct, and then Priscilla's laugh.

I stared at the ceiling and thought about the boy who had held an umbrella over my head when I was seventeen. I thought about the way he had looked at me in that diner, his eyes serious and kind, and told me things would get better.

I wondered when I had stopped believing him.

The next morning, I went to work early. Naomi met me at my office door with her tablet and a strange expression.

"Did you hear?" she asked.

"Hear what?"

She hesitated. "There's a new senior hire. Starting today. Priscilla Payne."

I set down my bag slowly.

"She's two doors down," Naomi continued. "Gael announced it himself this morning. Said she'd be overseeing brand partnerships."

I walked to my office window and looked out at the city. The sky was white and flat.

"Okay," I said.

Naomi touched my arm. "Elliot—"

"It's fine," I said.

She left. I stood at the window for a long time.

Then I sat down, opened my laptop, and got back to work.