“Hi, David.”
His expression changed immediately.
“Where are you?”
“This call is for Fiona.”
“Blaire.”
“This call is for Fiona.”
I had never interrupted him like that in our marriage.
My knees were shaking.
My voice was not.
Miriam ended the call at the agreed time.
Afterward, I stood in the kitchen gripping the counter.
Luca was outside with Fiona, helping her collect flat stones from the edge of a garden path.
He saw me through the window but did not come inside.
I appreciated that more than I could explain.
Over the next week, my life became a strange combination of ordinary motherhood and legal paperwork.
Fiona wanted pancakes.
My attorney wanted bank statements.
Fiona wanted to know whether squirrels slept in trees.
I needed to document which household expenses I had paid, when my account access disappeared, and what personal belongings remained inside the townhouse.
I spoke to Natalie every day.
