On Wednesday Ryan appeared outside my office. Jenna saw him first and came to my desk with an expression that made my stomach tighten. She said he was at the front entrance, asking to talk, and that he'd refused to leave a message. I asked her not to let him inside the workspace and went to the glass door with my phone in my hand.
He looked tired. His jacket was expensive, but his collar was crooked, and a bruise-colored shadow sat beneath one eye. For a brief instant I felt the old reflex to ask whether he'd slept and whether he needed help. Then I remembered his message about what he hoped would happen after my husband lost his temper.
"I need five minutes," he said.
"Talk to my attorney."
"You know that's ridiculous. We're not enemies, Claire. Whatever Ethan told you, I cared about you."
"Did you tell people I believed I was choosing you and they shouldn't correct that?"
He glanced toward Jenna, who stood several feet behind me, and lowered his voice. "This isn't a conversation to have in a doorway."
"Then you should have thought about that when you planned to have my marriage end in front of a hundred strangers."
His mouth tightened. "I didn't make you say those things to him."
The words landed harder because they were true. Ryan had encouraged the scene, chosen the location, and planned to exploit Ethan's reaction, but he hadn't spoken my cruel sentence for me. I had walked into the bar with every opportunity to choose differently. I told him that he was right about that much, and I saw surprise flash across his face because he had expected an argument he could redirect.
"You made the financial arrangements," I continued. "You lied about who was involved. You used information I trusted you with. I am cooperating with the review, and I am not going to discuss it with you privately."
He took a step toward the glass. "If this turns into a lawsuit, you go down with me. You signed the forms. Don't pretend you're clean."
"I don't," I said. "I haven't been pretending that for a week."
For a moment he looked at me as if I were speaking a language he didn't understand. Then he backed away, adjusted his jacket, and said I would regret listening to people who wanted to ruin him. He left before Jenna had to call building security. I watched him turn the corner and felt no surge of triumph, only the weary recognition that a man who had once made me feel powerful had been most dangerous when I was willing to accept his explanation of my life.
That night Caroline came over with dinner in paper containers, and we ate at the kitchen table while the dogs slept beneath our feet. She didn't ask whether Ryan had been arrested or whether Ethan was coming home. She asked how Jenna was doing, whether clients had been informed, and whether I was going to tell our mother the truth. I told her about Ryan's visit and admitted that part of me had still wanted him to say he'd loved me.