Chapter 2

I pushed the door open.

Bri was standing off to the side with her head down. The smile wasn't all the way off her face yet. Roman was sitting up straight in his chair.

I put the lunchbox on his desk.

"Did you take your pills?"

"Took them."

My eyes went to the trash can and stayed there.

Bri jumped in. "Honestly, those pills wipe him out for the whole day. He's dead by two in the afternoon. Being happy matters more than being perfect, don't you think? When a man gets watched that closely it just makes everything—"

"Does it." I looked at her. "Are you teaching me how to take care of my husband?"

Her face went white. She looked at Roman.

He didn't let her down. "She's a kid. Don't scare her." He smiled at me. "Relax. I know what I'm doing."

There was a wet ring on the desk where the can had been. He hadn't wiped it.

He followed my eyes to it. "If there's nothing else, you should head home."

"All right," I said. "I'll come earlier tomorrow."

I looked at Bri when I said it. She put a hand on the back of the chair.

I went out and stood in the hallway.

"God. I thought I was going to be sick." Bri's voice came through the door. "She's scarier than my old principal."

"You haven't done anything wrong. What are you scared of?"

"What if I wanted to do something wrong?"

There was a pause.

I've been married to Roman for seventeen years. When he goes quiet like that, he isn't shocked. He's working out whether it can be done.

At home I sat on the bed and opened his health data.

Five years ago, when he came out of the hospital, I asked him to share it with me so I could keep track of things. He thought it was funny. "So you're my doctor now."

Nobody ever turned it off.

Yesterday, 1:47 a.m. Heart rate 162.

Sunday. Boxing. Fifty-two minutes.

Last Thursday, 2:20 a.m. Heart rate 158.

I scrolled all the way back. For four and a half years the numbers were flat and boring. I'd spent four and a half years making them that way. Then in March they started climbing at hours when he was supposed to be asleep next to me.

At five he called. Dinner with Curt, his oldest client. "Don't worry, he won't let me drink."

I hung up and texted Curt's wife.

Any interest in that new spa tonight?

Diane took a while to answer.

Can't. Curt's actually home for once, I'm making him dinner.

I sent Roman one line.

Watch what you eat.

He came in after one. I was on my side with my back to him.

He'd showered somewhere. He didn't smell like our soap. He smelled like leather and gasoline.

I stayed where I was until he started snoring.

Someone I didn't know followed me on Instagram that night. The profile picture was a little cartoon figure. There was one exactly like it sitting on the corner of Roman's desk.

I knew who it was. I let her in.

She didn't message me. She didn't have to.

Her last post was a mirror selfie taken on a bike. She had a helmet on that was too big for her. He was behind her with his hand on the tank.

Somebody told me he'd never ride again. Somebody lied.

His left hand was in the frame. The ring was gone. There was a pale band where it used to be.

Five years ago, in the hospital, he held my hand and told me he'd sold the bike. He said he would never ride again.

The next morning I drove out to my mother's and told her everything.

She was surprised for about a second. "What do you want to do about it?"

I had both hands around the cup. It took me a while to get my voice flat again.

"He's had chest pain since the spring," I said. "He's been taking things at night he doesn't tell me about. You know what they did to him five years ago. I can give up the man. But the money."

She understood before I finished.

She went into the study and came back with a folder. An outside valuation of Vale Development, dated a month ago.

"How do you have this?"

"I have one done every year. It isn't expensive." She sat down across from me. "I told you not to quit your job for him. You didn't listen." She poured herself more coffee. "Still. You weren't a complete idiot about it."

The two million that started his company came out of her pocket. The shares are in my name. With that folder in my hand, he couldn't move a dollar of it without me knowing.

She pushed the tissues across the table. "You've been through it now. That's the hard part."

I started crying anyway.

She came around and sat next to me and put an arm around my shoulders.

"Does Wren know?"

Wren is our daughter. She's ten.