Page 49 of Unwrapped

Her smile falters, and hurt flickers across her face. “Is that any way to greet your wife?” she asks.

Wife.

For the past few days, I've barely thought of Elena at all. She's been a name on legal documents, someone whose calls I ignore. But here she is, standing in my house, reminding me that we're still married. And behind my closed bedroom door is Sophie.

For the first time, the enormity of what I've done begins to sink in.

“I came all the way from Boston, Vince. You could at least pretend to be happy to see me.”

I gesture at the stairs, motioning for her to descend. “I haven’t returned your calls because there’s nothing to discuss, Elena,” I say, following her down. “Our lawyers are handling everything.”

“Oh, please.” She steps onto the main floor and sets her handbag on the sideboard, removing her gloves one finger at a time. I don’t like that she’s making herself more comfortable, but at least I’ve gotten her away from the bedroom. “You haven’t been answering my calls. What was I supposed to do, sit around waiting for you to decide I’m worth your time?”

She says it like it’s a joke, like we’re sharing a laugh about my unreasonable behavior, but I’ve seen this pattern enough times to recognize it. Elena calls once, gets no answer. Calls again, leaves a message that sounds friendly but has a question that needs answering. Third call: concern. Fourth: frustration. Fifth: accusation. Sixth: action.

And the action is always something you couldn’t have predicted, something that forces your attention by making everything worse.

“You drove two hours from Boston because I didn’t answer your phone call?”

“Yes.” She shrugs out of her coat and drapes it over the back of the couch.

I should’ve changed the locks. It never occurred to me. She left me, moved far away. Never once did I think she would come back, two years later, and let herself in.

“You can’t just show up unannounced,” I say. “This isn’t your house anymore.”

“It’s still my house legally.” She says it lightly, but the emphasis is on purpose. “Until the divorce is finalized, which it isn’t. So technically, I’m visiting marital property.”

“Elena.”

“I’m not here to fight.” She holds up both hands, placating. “I just want to talk. Is that really so unreasonable? Five minutes of your time, Vince. That’s all I’m asking.”

I think about Sophie upstairs, possibly hiding in the closet. I have to get this woman out of my house.

“The settlement is unacceptable,” she says. “The division of assets is completely one-sided. You're keeping the lake house, the investment portfolio, and offering me what? A lump sum that wouldn't cover ten years of rent in Boston?”

“Our lawyers have been through this, Elena. Multiple times.”

“I don't want to talk to Douglas. I want to talk to you.” Her voice softens. “You used to love me, Vince. Doesn't that count for anything?”

I did love her. Enough to marry her, to believe we could build something lasting. And now I'm standing in front of her, knowing what I've just been doing upstairs with her daughter. The guilt suddenly makes me feel physically ill.

I have plenty of reasons to resent Elena. She betrayed me, walked away from our marriage, and abandoned her daughter without much apparent concern for what would become of her. But that doesn’t change the fact that she's still my wife, and Sophie is still her daughter. Whatever Elena has done, I can't use it to justify my own behavior.

But I can't deal with any of that right now. Sophie is upstairs, and Elena has let herself into my house uninvited, determined to drag me into another argument. I need to get her out of here. I'll have to face everything else later.

“Our past doesn't change the settlement,” I tell her. “If you believe the division of assets is unfair, your lawyer can take that up with mine.”

“So that's it? You won't even have a conversation with me?”

“We're having one. You just don't like my answers.”

Her face hardens. “You always have to be right, don't you? Everything has to be on your terms.”

“Elena, you left me. You moved to Boston with a new man. You don't get to come back two years later and pretend none of that happened.”

“I left because I was miserable!” she snaps. “Because you never understood me, Vince. You were perfectly content with your comfortable little life, and you expected me to be happy with it too. I wanted more than that.”

She glances around the living room, taking in the Christmas tree and the decorations. For a moment, her anger gives way to something that looks remarkably like hurt.