“Maybe a little warmer,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sterling. I feel awful.”
I stared at the back of her head.
“No,” I said. “You don’t.”
David’s eyes flashed in the rearview mirror. “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
The storm swallowed Manhattan in silver sheets. He asked her if she needed water, gum, a mint, his jacket.
He never asked if I was cold.
Chapter 5: Pink Fantasy
At Cecilia’s apartment in Queens, David walked her to the door with the umbrella tilted completely over her.
He returned smiling like a man coming back from a first date.
The smile faded when he saw my face in the mirror.
“You’re still mad?” he said. “Grow up, Cat.”
For the first time in twelve years, I did not answer.
That frightened him more than shouting would have.
Three nights later, I found the perfume bottle under the passenger seat.
Pink Fantasy.
Cheap. Sweet. Young.
The seat had been reclined almost flat. My Chanel had been erased by hers.
David had told me he was flying to Chicago for an emergency inspection.
But a winery in the Hamptons posted a photo that afternoon.
Chapter 6: The Picture
The photo showed two hands intertwined over a vineyard table.
One of those hands wore the blue-dial Patek Philippe I had bought David for our anniversary.
The caption read:
My boss takes the best care of me. Best getaway ever.
I sat on our bed and stared at the screen until something inside me finally stopped begging.
I did not call him.
I did not cry.
I opened my laptop.
First, I checked the deed to the townhouse.
Still mine.
Then the car documents.
Still under my name.
Then the bank accounts.
Still accessible.
Then my lawyer’s number.
Still saved.
Still saved.
David had placed another woman in my front seat.
So I decided to remove him from every seat of power he had stolen.
Chapter 7: The House He Forgot
David loved calling it our townhouse whenever investors came over.
“This place represents everything we built,” he would say, smiling beneath the chandelier I had chosen.
