Chapter 3

Evan flipped to the property division page and read it through twice.

"The house, the car, the savings—you don't want any of it?"

"No."

"And your shares?"

"My lawyer will confirm my rights. I'll deal with those separately."

He closed the folder. "Claire, I know you don't actually want a divorce. You just feel like I took Vivian's side this time, and you want me to bend."

"I was clear last night."

"Ten years of marriage doesn't end with a few sentences."

He lowered his voice. "You don't have a real job. You don't have steady income. If you move out now, how are you going to live? I'm not looking down on you. I just don't want to watch you stake yourself on a bad mood."

"No salary doesn't mean I didn't do the work."

"The company is what it is today partly because of you. That's exactly why I'm not letting you walk away at a moment like this."

"It's not that you won't let me go. It's that you don't believe I actually will."

Evan gripped the papers, creasing them in his hand.

His phone rang twice. He didn't answer.

"Give me three days. If you still want this in three days, we'll talk."

"I don't need three days."

"But I do."

He tore up the agreement and set the shreds on the coffee table.

"Vivian has a psychological evaluation today. The doctor said she's at risk of self-harm again. I have to be there. Stay at home. I'll come back."

"Evan, she has doctors. She has family."

"This whole scandal started because of the company. I can't just walk away. If you still care about this marriage, don't force me to abandon her at a moment like this."

He took a card from his wallet and placed it on top of the shredded paper.

"Supplementary credit card. If you want to stay somewhere else for a few days, that's fine, just nowhere unsafe. When you've calmed down, call me."

I didn't take the card.

After Evan left, I put the apartment keys in an envelope at the front desk and wheeled my suitcase out.

The old apartment building where we'd lived during the early days of his startup happened to have a unit available.

I paid three months' rent and moved in that night.

Deep in the night, I woke to a stabbing pain in my abdomen.

The sheets were soaked in blood.

The emergency line picked up just as my phone slipped from my hand.

By the time the paramedics arrived, I couldn't stand.

"Where's the family?"

"There isn't any."

"Anyone you'd like us to call? Husband, parents, a friend?"

"I can sign for myself."

The ambulance took me to the nearest ER.

The on-call doctor asked about my last period and ordered bloodwork and an ultrasound.

When the tests were done, she set the report in front of me.

"Ten weeks pregnant. The embryo has stopped developing. There's blood pooling in the uterus. You're still bleeding and need a D&C as soon as possible."

I pressed a hand to my stomach. "Can it wait?"

"Waiting means hemorrhage and infection risk. There's no heartbeat. It can't be saved."

Ten weeks ago, Evan's mother had come to San Francisco to visit, and at the dinner table she had asked once again when we planned to have children.

He went out drinking after dinner and came home in the middle of the night. We hadn't shared a bed since.

The doctor handed me the surgical consent form. "You can make the decision yourself. But it's best to list an emergency contact—someone will need to accompany you home after the anesthesia."

"Leave it blank."

"The baby's father doesn't know?"

"No need to tell him."