PART 1
At 2:00 a.m., the sound of a suitcase zipper broke the silence of our bedroom.
I lay perfectly still on my side of the bed, eyes half closed, breathing slow and even, and I listened to my husband move through our walk-in closet with the careful, clumsy panic of a man who has never once in his life had to be quiet because he got what he wanted.
Garrett Payne thought the tea he’d made me would keep me asleep.
He’d been so solicitous about it. “You look exhausted, Cam. Let me make you something.” He’d brought it to me in bed, the chamomile, and kissed my forehead, and watched me take a sip. My husband, who had not made me a cup of anything in years, suddenly playing the attentive spouse at eleven o’clock at night.
I’d thanked him. I’d held the cup. And the moment he went to brush his teeth, I’d poured mine into his and taken his.
