“Claire,” he said, like we were still married in the way that mattered. “Let’s talk. I was upset. Mom was upset. We didn’t mean—”
I hung up.
The next morning, as I was making Noah a peanut butter sandwich, my security camera notification pinged. I opened the app and felt my stomach drop.
Evan’s car was at the curb.
Diane was with him, dressed like she was headed to church, posture rigid, face set with righteous purpose.
They marched up my walkway like they owned it.
And when they reached my front door, Diane lifted her fist and started pounding.
I didn’t open the door.
Noah was at the kitchen table humming to himself, jelly on his cheek, blissfully unaware that my old life had parked itself outside my new one. I forced my voice to stay calm.
“Buddy,” I said, keeping my eyes on the camera feed, “let’s go to your room for a minute. Bring Dino.”
