I woke before Noah. Before the alarm. Before the first light hit the bedroom window.
I lay there in the dark and stared at the ceiling. My chest rose and fell. In. Out. In. Out. Like counting.
I thought about the yellow legal pad in the nightstand. Twelve bullet points. Twelve steps. I had walked through them in my head so many times that they didn't feel like a plan anymore. They felt like something that had already happened.
I sat up. Put my feet on the floor. Stood.
The burgundy wrap dress was hanging on the back of the closet door where I'd left it the night before. Deep red. Long sleeves. The kind of thing you wear when you want to look like yourself and nothing else. I pulled it on. Tied the sash. Checked the mirror once and didn't look again.
Noah was still asleep when I went into his room. His little chest moved up and down under the dinosaur blanket. I sat on the edge of his bed and watched him for a minute. Maybe two. His hair was sticking up on one side. His mouth was open just a little.
I thought about the jasmine perfume. The whistle sound he made when his throat closed. The way Chase just stood there.
I leaned down and kissed Noah's forehead. He stirred but didn't wake.
"It's okay," I whispered. "Mama's got you."
---
I made his favorite breakfast. French toast with the cinnamon he likes. Cut into triangles. Syrup on the side because he hates when it gets soggy. He came padding into the kitchen in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes, and climbed into his chair without a word.
"Morning, baby."
"Morning."
He ate. I drank coffee and watched him. The clock on the microwave said seven-forty-three. We had two hours.
Chase came out of the bedroom at eight. Showered. Shaved. Smelling like the cologne I bought him last Christmas. He kissed the top of Noah's head and poured himself coffee.
"You look nice," he said to me.
"Thank you."
He smiled. That smile. The one that used to make my stomach flip. Now it just sat there on his face like something I was supposed to respond to.
I didn't.
"What time do we need to leave?" he asked.
"Nine-thirty."
"Got it."
He scrolled his phone. Sipped his coffee. Laughed at something on the screen. I watched his thumb move. Up. Down. Up. Down.
I wondered if he was texting her.
I wondered if he thought about Noah at all when he pressed his face into that jasmine-soaked coat.
I finished my coffee. Set the mug in the sink. Turned around.
"I'm going to get Noah dressed," I said.
Chase nodded without looking up.
---
Noah's navy blazer was laid out on the guest bed where I'd left it the night before. Little khaki pants. White button-down. Tiny loafers that made him look like a miniature adult. He stood still while I buttoned his shirt. Tucked it in. Smoothed his hair.
"Do I have to wear this?" he asked.
"Just for a little while, baby. Then you can play with your cousins."
"Okay."
I kissed his forehead again. Held him there for a second longer than I needed to.
Then I stood. Straightened. Looked at myself in the hallway mirror.
My face looked back. Calm. Composed. Fine.
I walked to the entryway. Picked up my coat. My purse. Noah's little backpack with his snacks and his tablet.
Chase came out a minute later. Wool coat over his arm. Phone in his hand. Same as always.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready."
We walked to the elevator. Rode down in silence. Noah hummed something under his breath. Chase checked his phone twice.
I stood very still.
When we got to the car, I buckled Noah into his seat. Kissed his nose. Closed the door. Walked around to the driver's side.
Chase slid into the passenger seat. Set his coat on his lap.
I started the engine.
I did not look back at the building.
I did not think about the apartment or the life we built there or the version of myself who believed in any of it.
I put the car in drive.
And I went.
---
The Greenwich estate looked exactly the way it always did. White columns. Brick facade. The long circular driveway already crowded with cars. I parked near the back and turned off the engine.
Chase got out first. Came around to get Noah. I stood by the trunk and smoothed my dress. Checked my purse. The recorder was in the zippered pocket. Small. Cold. Waiting.
Inside, the house was warm and loud. Voices layered over voices. Laughter. The clink of glasses. My mother's caterer moving through the crowd with trays of champagne and little pastries that no one really eats.
I kissed cheeks. Smiled. Filled a glass I didn't plan to drink. Moved through the rooms like I always did.
Uncle Rob asked about Noah's preschool. Aunt Karen complimented my dress. My father squeezed my shoulder and told me I looked tired.
"I'm fine, Dad."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
I was not sure.
I was the opposite of sure.
But I smiled. And I moved on.
---
Layne arrived at ten-forty-three.
I know because I checked my phone when I heard Aunt Diane's voice rise in the foyer.
She came in wearing emerald green. Silk. Fitted. Her hand rested on her stomach in that way pregnant women do when they want you to notice. Her hair was down. Loose curls. Jasmine perfume trailing behind her like a flag.
She saw me across the room.
She smiled.
I smiled back.
Chase was near the bar. I watched him glance toward the door. Watched his shoulders shift. Watched him turn back to his drink a half-second too late.
I excused myself. Walked toward the hallway. Slow. Steady. Like I was looking for the bathroom.
Chase's coat was draped over the chair near the stairs. Right where he always left it.
I reached into the deep interior pocket. My fingers found the recorder. I pressed the button. Felt the tiny vibration that meant it was on.
I slipped it back. Smoothed the fabric. Walked away.
Ninety seconds.
No one saw.
I came back into the living room. Picked up my untouched champagne. Took a sip that tasted like nothing.
Across the room, Aunt Diane was whispering to my mother. Smiling that smile. The one that said she'd won something.
I stood very still.
And I waited.
