Chapter 1

On my first morning as general manager of our Denver office, HR asks me to approve twenty extra days of paternity leave for my husband.

I haven't had a baby.

"Ethan Cole," Laura says, setting the request on my desk. "Our sales manager. His wife had a difficult delivery. He's asking for an extension."

I read the name again.

Ethan Cole.

Then the sentence beneath it.

My wife needs additional support following the birth of our son.

Our son.

I move the cursor over the approval button.

Click.

"Approved," I say. "He should be with his family."

Laura smiles. "He'll be grateful."

I transferred back from headquarters to surprise my husband.

He beat me to it.

"Before you go," I say, "tell me about him."

"Ethan?"

"What's he like?"

"Oh, you'll love him. One of our strongest sales managers. Everybody knows him."

She lowers herself into the chair across from me.

"And such a good husband. You don't see that much anymore."

I pick up my pen.

"What makes you say that?"

"He brings his wife to everything. Holiday parties, team dinners. Won't let her carry her own coat, let alone open a door."

My pen stops moving.

"His wife comes to company events?"

"All the time."

"I don't think I've met her."

"Hang on. I have a picture."

She scrolls through her phone, then holds it out.

Ethan stands in the center of a group outside a restaurant.

His arm is around a pregnant woman in a white dress.

One hand rests on her stomach.

He's looking down at her.

I know that look. He used to give it to me.

"What's her name?"

"Brianna. Brianna Lane. She teaches dance."

I enlarge the photograph.

A luxury bag hangs from her shoulder.

My bag.

I bought it on a work trip to New York last month. Before I had a chance to carry it, Ethan told me he needed a gift for a client's wife.

Big account. Important birthday. He'd forgotten until the last minute.

"Please, Nat. You'd be saving my life."

He promised to replace it when his bonus came through.

In the photograph, Brianna is holding the chain with both hands.

"Beautiful bag," Laura says. "He bought it for her because pregnancy's been so hard on her."

I hand back the phone.

"Would you send me that team photo? I'm still putting names to faces."

"Of course."

"Thank you. That'll be all."

The door closes.

For several seconds, I stare at the wood grain.

My name is Natalie Bennett. I kept it when I married Ethan seven years ago.

Corporate HR knows we're married. Before approving my transfer, they arranged for his performance reviews and disciplinary matters to stay with the regional sales director.

Routine requests for extra leave still come to the local general manager.

To me.

Ethan began his leave before I arrived. My formal introduction to the staff is scheduled for Friday.

I was going to tell him about the promotion over dinner.

Instead, I open Laura's photograph again.

My husband.

His pregnant girlfriend.

The bag I paid for.

I call him.

He answers after six rings.

"Hey, babe."

"Where are you?"

"With a client. Why?"

"What client?"

"The new account I told you about."

He hasn't told me about a new account.

"I'm coming home tonight."

A pause.

Then, "Tonight? Seriously?"

"Yes."

"You should've said something. I would've picked you up."

"I have a car."

"Well, come hungry. I'll make those short ribs you like."

He sounds pleased.

Warm.

Exactly the way a husband should sound when his wife comes home.

A baby starts crying.

Close to the phone.

I hear fabric rustle.

"Ethan?"

"Babe, I need to go."

"Was that a baby?"

"See you tonight."

The line goes dead.

On my computer, his leave request now has a green check beside it.

Twenty extra days.

I hope he enjoys them.