Chapter 1

In three years of marriage, I miscarried three times.

Every time, Wayne Sanchez promised the next time he would be there for me.

By the fourth pregnancy, I quit my job and drank herbal remedies for six months just to get past the first trimester.

The day I lost the baby, he flew to the next state to celebrate Kayla Sharpe's birthday.

She was Wayne's ex-girlfriend, and the third person in my marriage.

I lay alone on the operating table and called him thirteen times.

The fourteenth call finally went through.

The voice on the other end was Kayla's, thick with tears.

"Ivy Joyner, Wayne's cutting the cake with me. Can't you just let him have one peaceful day with me?"

When the call ended, the nurse was holding the consent form out to me.

In the space for next of kin, I wrote my own name.

Three hours later, the doctor said the baby couldn't be saved.

He rushed back overnight and did a great many things.

Made soup, reported his whereabouts, put away every photo of Kayla.

But watching him bustle around, I suddenly felt how strange he was to me.

The servants all said the master had finally come home to me.

But I had already signed the divorce papers.

1.

"The soup's done. And I had Kayla's photos put away."

Wayne set the bowl in front of me.

He was in loungewear, sleeves rolled to his elbows.

This was the chicken soup he'd made himself, three hours over the stove, after rushing back from the next state.

Steam rose and blurred that always cool, self-possessed face of his.

I watched him quietly.

He pulled out the chair across from me and sat, reaching for his water glass out of habit.

Under the glass was a few thin sheets of paper.

His hand paused.

His eyes fell on the bold black print.

Divorce papers.

Wayne's brow creased slightly.

"Ivy, put the papers away for now."

"I know you don't want to hear me explain right now."

"This one's on me. I didn't pick up your calls in time, and I got back late."

He looked into my eyes, his voice softening a little.

"But I'm home now, aren't I?"

I looked at the wellness herbs floating in the bowl, and they stung my eyes.

"I already signed."

There wasn't a single waver in my voice.

Wayne set down the glass and tapped the table twice with his fingers.

That was what he did without thinking when he felt something slipping out of his control.

"Ivy, calm down. It isn't what you think."

"The doctor said long ago that your body isn't suited for pregnancy. This was just an accident."

"Kayla's depression flared up that day. She locked herself in the bathroom and wouldn't come out."

He paused, and there was a matter-of-fact reproach in his tone.

"I only went to make sure she was safe, and while I was there, to spend her birthday with her."

"When I left, all you said was that your stomach felt a little off."

"If I'd known it was this serious, I wouldn't have gone."

I lifted my head and looked at the man I had loved for three years.

"Wayne, this isn't the first time."

The first three times I miscarried, he sat across from me exactly like this.

The first time, he said the company had an important merger and he couldn't get away.

The second time, he said Kayla had just moved back and didn't know her way around, and he had to help her settle in.

The third time, he said it was just an accident, and that next time he would surely be there for me.

Every time, he had a flawless reason.

He thought that as long as he bought a bag afterward and made a pot of soup, I'd forgive him the way I always had.

"I'm not throwing a fit."

I picked up the spoon and stirred the warm soup.

"I don't want any of it anymore."

"I only want a divorce."

Wayne's face finally darkened.

He stood, came to my side, and looked down at me.

"Over one missed call?"

"Ivy, I told you I put her photos away."

"I told her not to come around for a while, too."

"What more do you want from me?"

He reached out to touch my hair.

I turned my head aside and dodged it.

His hand froze in the air, then slowly tightened and drew back.

"When you're feeling better, we'll go skiing in Switzerland."

"You've always wanted to go, haven't you?"

He made the decision all by himself.

I put down the spoon and stood.

"Wayne, do you know what I was thinking when I signed that surgical consent form?"

"I was thinking, maybe you'd already cut the cake for her."

I looked into his eyes and said it calmly.

"I don't want to go skiing in Switzerland anymore."

Wayne's breath stopped for a moment.

He stared at me for a long time, and something restless flickered in his eyes.

Then he reached out and picked up the divorce papers from the table.

A sharp rip.

The thin sheets tore in two, and he threw them into the trash.

"Divorce is out of the question."

He straightened his cuffs and slid back into his usual coldness.

"You've been unstable these past few days. I won't hold it against you. Drink your soup."

"I have a meeting today. I'll be home early tonight to have dinner with you."

With that, he turned toward the entryway, took his car keys, and left.

The moment the door closed, the house fell quiet again.

The chicken soup on the table had already gone cold.