Page 97 of Happy Wife

“Okay.” Este must see the wild look in my eyes as a cry for help. She softens and puts a careful hand on my arm. “Sweetie. You’re exhausted. And you smell a little bit like a police precinct.”

“Hurtful.”

“And still shockingly accurate.” She gives me a little pat. “Go take a shower. I’ll run home and figure out something for dinner.”

A shower. Some food. I know Este is right. I have to find Will’s killer before I end up taking the fall for his murder.

Chapter37

Before

I took advantage of the fact that Find My still showed Will was at the office when I got home. Walking past the pantry, I checked the floor for the puddle of glass and bourbon from the night before. It was gone, and so was the mess I had made getting his ill-fated short ribs ready. Everything was perfectly tidied. As if nothing had ever happened. He’s a lawyer. He can’t help himself. Evidence is evidence.

I headed upstairs to peel the day-old, rain-soaked, and then air-dried designer dress off and put it with the dry cleaning so Alma could run it up to the cleaners and help me bring it back to life. I gave it one last I-know-it-to-be-parting look before heading to the shower.

It’s too bad. It really was a great dress. Now, I’ll probably never wear it again.

I was already dreading seeing it hanging in my closet, thinking all the tears and bad energy from last night might have sunk into every careful stitch in the fabric. But I quickly shook the self-pitying thought off, remembering the pep talk Marcus had givenme.

I’m not wallowing. I’m going to be assertive. I belong here as much as any of them. As much as Will.

I planned to confront him about it when he got home. I wasgoing to fight fair, but firm. It would be different this time because I wasn’t going to leave things up to chance.

At least that was the little speech I was giving myself. Then almost without thinking, without hesitation, I opened the web browser on my phone and searched:Winter Park divorce attorney.

Stop it, Nora. What are you doing? It’s not like the museum has called to beg you back.

Watching the results populate made my stomach hurt.

I’m not leaving. Who the hell would leave this?

No one in their right mind would walk away from this world. This life. But my younger self knew that you have to have contingencies. You have to have a plan B. My mother’s only plan B was find another guy. Until that happened, the mornings I had to scoop her off the bathroom floor to make sure that I got to school on time were too many to count. While she could sink herself into another romantic story line, I couldn’t be so naïve.

I didn’twantto leave, but I had to know my options. I had to know that if I needed to go, I could, and that I wouldn’t be left with a weird couture wardrobe and not much else. This world had taught me that you have to fight for what’s yours. If Will was going to stay distant and cryptic and act out, I needed to be responsible. And I was so hurt by his inaction that I had to make a plan. I needed to know how to right things if they went wrong. And if this marriage was going sour, I was determined not to cower while it all played out.

I scanned reviews and logos, seeking something that looked professional and not sleazy. I scrolled past aggressive attorney taglines and revenge-driven slogans before I landed on one that was straightforward and simple.

With a shaking thumb, I clicked on the number.

“Fisher-Grant Family Law,” a pinched female voice answered after a few rings.

“Hi…” My voice shook a little. “I would like to schedule a consultation with one of your attorneys?”

“Sure, dear. But this is just an answering service. Can I take down your contact information? I’ll have someone return your call when the office reopens on Monday.”

“Okay,” I said before reciting my name and number.

As I hung up, I let out a big breath.

There. You’re just getting information. Getting information isn’t betraying your husband. He’s a fucking attorney. He doesn’t have to call anyone because he already knows all the information. I should at least have some.

I showered and pulled on leggings and a sports bra, thinking a run before he got home would help me feel clearheaded.

Endorphins are good. Endorphins make you feel powerful.

Turning the corner to go downstairs, I walked straight into Will.

“Fuck. You’re home.” I jumped back, startled.

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