Page 196 of The Marriage Clause

Only now every room feels like a place he was waiting me out.

Waiting until the trust let him go.

My stomach turns again, emptier this time. I press a hand to it and breathe through the wave of nausea until it passes.

I should eat something.

I should probably do a lot of things.

Instead I sit on the floor with my back against the wall and stare at the wedding painting until practical thought finally drags its way through the wreckage.

If I can't stay here, I need somewhere else.

A small apartment would work for now and then I'd need to find something bigger later when Dad gets out of Brookhaven.

I still have the payout from the contract, but the thought of touching it makes my skin crawl. Like using the corpse of my marriage to pay the first month's rent.

Penelope would tell me to take it. She'd say his money, his guilt, your survival, do the math. Cammy would say something worse. They'd both be right, and I'd still feel sick about it.

But I have the storage unit.

The old paintings. The canvases I boxed up after the accident. The pieces from art school and the early gallery days and the life I stopped looking at because I thought it had stopped being mine.

Some of them are good. Some of them might sell. And maybe that is the part that finally makes me get to my feet.

For the last three years, painting has only been about grief and healing and survival, but maybe it can be a way of life. Maybe the same thing that brought me back to myself is the thing that gets me out of his world.

My phone buzzes on the drafting table and I almost don't bother to look. Then I see Cammy's name.

What do you mean you two broke up? I just saw you at the game. That man couldn't take his eyes off you.

I stare at the text.

Of course word got out fast. Of course in this city nothing stays quiet. Somebody saw the town car. Somebody talked to somebody. The Seattle billionaire rumor mill moves faster than actual journalism.

I type back slowly.

It's a long story. And not one I can really share over text. Coffee at Serendipity's later?

Her response comes almost immediately.

Of course, girl. Name the time.

Then Penelope, thirty seconds later:

Cammy just told me. I'm coming too. Don't argue.

I wasn't going to argue. If I'm being honest, I was counting on it.

For the first time since last night, something in my chest loosens. Not relief exactly. But something close to not entirely alone, and right now that's enough.

I need to run an errand first. I'll text you.

Cammy: I'll be there.

Penelope: Can't wait to see you.

I slip the phone into my back pocket, look once more at the painting on the easel, and know with absolute certainty that I cannot spend another full day in this house waiting for him to change his mind.