Thanks for Warming Her Bed, I'm Leaving

Three days ago, I was in a car accident. It nearly killed me, and it did kill the baby I'd been carrying for ten weeks.

I'd gone to the ultrasound appointment alone that morning. The doctor handed me the picture and told me the heartbeat was strong. I set the little black-and-white photo on the passenger seat and started driving home.

Then the brakes gave out.

I spent three days in a hospital bed. My husband, Dorian Halloway, never came once. His assistant called and told me in that flat, businesslike voice that Mr. Halloway was in Europe closing an important merger and couldn't get away.

I believed her.

I didn't even tell him about the baby. I wanted to wait until he was home and say it to his face.

On the third morning I checked myself out. All I wanted was to get back to the house I'd designed with my own hands and sleep for a week.

But I never made it to the stairs. I froze at the edge of the living room instead.

The door to the master bedroom was half open. Dorian wasn't in Europe. He was sitting on the velvet couch I'd picked out in Milan, and Elodie Barrow was curled up against him in my silk pajamas. Officially, he was only her sponsor. Officially, she was his sister, with not one drop of shared blood between them.

"Dor, I'm scared of the thunder." Her voice was soft and sweet, with a little tremble in it she'd clearly practiced.

"Don't be. I'm right here." Dorian's voice was gentle. It was a voice he hadn't used on me in a very long time.

One of his hands was patting her back. The other was playing with the diamond pendant at her throat.

I'd drawn that necklace myself last month. I'd planned to wear it on our third anniversary. When I sent the drawing to the jeweler, I asked him to engrave an M on the back of the pendant.

The pendant turned over between Dorian's fingers.

The letter on the back was an E.

Five years ago he'd stood in front of a model in my studio for a long time before he turned around and asked me, "Miss Ferrand, if I asked you to dinner, would you say yes?"

The way he'd looked at me then was exactly the way he was looking at her now. The man I used to tell everything to had given all of it away to someone else: his softness, his temper, his patience. All that was left for me was silence.

I stood there and watched the whole thing. I didn't scream. I didn't cry. Something in my chest went cold and stayed cold, and when I finally spoke, my voice came out perfectly level.

"If the thunder frightens you that much, maybe you should sleep in the basement. The soundproofing is better down there."

I didn't raise my voice. But in a room that quiet, every word carried.

Dorian's head snapped up, and something like panic crossed his face. He still didn't let go of her. Elodie shrank deeper into his arms like a startled deer, and her eyes went red right on cue.

"Margot. When did you get back?" He frowned. There wasn't a trace of concern in his voice, only blame. "Do you have to sneak around like that? You scared her."

I scared her.

I had just lost a child. I had spent three nights alone in a room that smelled of disinfectant. And my husband, sitting on our bed, was telling me I'd frightened another woman.

"Sorry," I said, looking right at him. "I'll leave you to it."

I turned and walked toward the guest room without looking back.

"Margot! What the hell is wrong with you now?" he shouted after me.

I closed the door and locked it. Then I leaned back against it and slid down until I was sitting on the floor.

I took the black-and-white photo out of my bag and looked at it for a long time. Three days, and I hadn't cried once. I didn't cry then either.

Instead, I picked up my phone and scrolled all the way down my contacts, to a name I hadn't touched in three years.

Ingrid, I need a divorce lawyer.

And I want to go back to work. Is there still a place for me at Wilder & Stahl?

Both messages showed as read. Ten seconds later, my phone rang.

"Margot Ferrand!" Ingrid Stahl, founding partner of Wilder & Stahl, came through loud enough to rattle the phone against my ear. "You finally came to your senses?"

"I did." I watched the rain run down the window. "And I'm not just getting divorced. I'm coming back to New York."

"Obviously you are. That north-facing office of yours? I've held it for three years. Never rented it out, not for a single day." She paused, and her voice dropped. "Did that bastard Dorian do something to you? Sit tight. I'll fly out tomorrow with the whole team."

"Don't bring the team," I said. "Just bring the lawyer."

"How fast?"

"As fast as you can."

I put the phone face down on the carpet.

For the first time in three days, I slept straight through until morning.