And he had no idea that the day I found all of that, I stopped being Garrett Payne’s wife.
I became something I used to be very, very good at being.
At 2:45 a.m., I typed back a single line.
“Enjoy the airport.”
At 3:06, he called. I let it ring.
At 3:09, Bianca called — to gloat, I assume, or because something at the airport had already started to go wrong and panic was setting in. I let that ring too.
I got up, walked to the kitchen, and poured the cup of dr*gged tea he’d made for me down the sink, watching it swirl away. Then I stood at the window with my own cup, the real one, and I watched the first snow of December begin to fall, soft and clean, over the front lawn.
Somewhere across the city, my husband was standing in an airport believing he had just won everything.
