“Put it with hers.”
Rachel studied me.
“You sure?”
“No.”
She wrapped it anyway.
Wednesday, Lauren called again.
This time from Philadelphia.
I could hear traffic.
“Are you at work?”
“Yes.”
“Can you talk?”
“For ten minutes.”
She became quiet.
“You sound formal.”
“I have a meeting.”
“Are you punishing me?”
“No.”
“It feels like you are.”
“What part?”
“Not calling.”
“You asked for space.”
“I didn't ask you to disappear.”
I nearly laughed.
“You left our house with another man.”
“And now you're using that against me in every conversation.”
“What would you prefer I use?”
“This is exactly why I needed distance.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Lauren, what did you think was going to happen?”
“I thought we'd take a breath.”
“You slept with him?”
Silence.
The answer arrived before the words.
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
Even though I knew.
Even though there was no realistic interpretation in which a married woman spent five nights traveling with the man she went on a date with and nothing happened.
Hearing it changed the air.
“How many times?”
“That's cruel.”
“It's a question.”
“I am not giving you details to torture yourself with.”
I almost admired the framing.
“Thank you for protecting me.”
“Don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Do that cold thing.”
“What cold thing?”
“Make everything sound sarcastic.”
I stood from my desk and closed the office door.
“You slept with another man while still married to me, and now you're criticizing my tone.”
Lauren started crying.
Real tears.
I knew the difference.
“I didn't plan for this.”
“But you packed an overnight bag.”
“I mean I didn't plan to hurt you this much.”
“That isn't better.”
“I thought maybe if I finally did something for myself, I'd understand why I've been unhappy.”
“And do you?”
She went quiet.
“No.”
For the first time, I almost felt sorry for her.
Then she said:
“I think that's why I need to come home and talk.”
There it was.
The return.
Not because she had chosen me.
Because the experiment failed to produce clarity.
“When?”
“Friday.”
“Okay.”
“You're okay with that?”
“You live there.”
Another pause.
“Ethan, I don't want this to become a divorce because I needed one week to figure myself out.”
I looked at Maya's email confirming the filing.
“It didn't become anything because of one week.”
“What does that mean?”
“My meeting is starting.”
“Ethan.”
“I'll see you Friday.”
I ended the call.
My hands shook for five minutes afterward.
Then stopped.
Thursday evening, the process server contacted Maya.
We discussed timing.
I did not want Lauren served at her office.
I did not want spectacle.
I did not want Blake involved.
Maya arranged for service after Lauren returned and we had spoken.
That mattered to me.
I wanted to tell my wife our marriage was over before a stranger handed her papers saying the same thing.