Chapter 2
The curtain rose to scattered applause.
Quinn took the stage. He stood in that awkward cardboard costume, playing a small tree in the most unremarkable corner of the stage—just like I'd been invisible these past five years.
In the dim audience, my phone buzzed abruptly against my knee.
I opened the screen. Delilah had just updated her Instagram.
[Won my first mock trial today! Thanks to my amazing mentor.]
The photo showed a French restaurant that required six-month advance reservations.
No faces were visible, but a glass of whiskey sat casually on the table, beside it a man's hand wearing a Patek Philippe. Sebastian's hand.
Not even a hint of a ring on his finger—because as a top-tier attorney, he insisted a wedding band would compromise his image of independence before a jury.
How ironic. He'd promised his son's first performance, yet here he was, miles away in some cloud-high dining room, celebrating a meaningless mock trial with another woman.
My gaze shifted from the lonely "tree" on stage back to the screen. I calmly hit "like," then powered off my phone.
On the drive home, Quinn clutched that cardboard costume the entire way.
He was unusually quiet, not crying or fussing, only asking in a small voice as I tucked him in whether Daddy was saving the world in court, which was why he couldn't come see his tree.
Looking into those disappointed eyes, the thought of leaving finally took root in my heart, unmovable.
After settling him to sleep, I sat in the dark living room until two in the morning.
The lock finally clicked. Sebastian walked in, trailing rose-scented perfume and the faint smell of alcohol.
Seeing me still on the couch, he frowned slightly, irritation flickering in his eyes. "Sorry. The client meeting after court ran long. I forgot."
I didn't expose his lie. I simply gathered the thick stack of firm documents from my lap and handed them over with the pen.
"HR needs these by tomorrow morning—quarterly confidentiality agreement renewals and some junior associate performance reviews." My tone remained even as I deliberately flipped through the stack, positioning one performance sheet to cover the top half of the last document. "Just sign here."
Sebastian rubbed his temples, reaching for the documents just as his phone buzzed urgently.
In the silent night, even without speakerphone, Delilah's panicked sobs leaked through clearly:
"Sebastian! My car broke down in Brooklyn. It's so dark, and there's a homeless man staring at me. I'm terrified..."
Sebastian's face changed instantly. He grabbed his car keys from the entryway table, his voice urgent into the phone:
"Lock all the doors and stay in the car. I'm leaving right now—I'll be there in twenty minutes!"
He hung up, consumed entirely by another woman's safety.
Years of muscle memory from signing countless legal documents kicked in. He barely glanced down before scrawling his signature across the exposed signature line.
The door slammed shut with a heavy thud, leaving the apartment in dead silence once more.
I quietly picked up the documents.
Sebastian—this divorce agreement hidden beneath the confidentiality forms? You signed it yourself.
This home? You chose to walk away from it.
The next day, I returned to the firm to finish my final handoff.
Sebastian paused as he passed my desk, handing me an elegant gift box.
"Yesterday really was too busy. This is for Quinn—to make up for it. Next time there's a school event, I'll definitely be there."
I hesitated, then opened the box. Inside was an elaborate remote-control sailboat.
My stomach dropped when I saw it.
Quinn was terrified of water and boats.
Last summer, Sebastian had taken him to Central Park on a whim, then received a frantic call about Delilah's car accident. In his panic, he'd let go of Quinn's hand.
Our young son tumbled into the deep reflecting pool. By the time a stranger pulled him out, his little face had turned blue-purple, unable even to cry.
Since then, even bathwater filled too high would make Quinn shake with fear.
And this man—the one whose negligence nearly killed our son—had chosen a boat as an apology gift.
Rage and grief tangled together until I couldn't tell them apart. Even my fingertips went cold.
I pushed the box back across the desk, my voice oddly calm. "No need. Thanks."
Sebastian looked at me strangely, seemingly annoyed that I wasn't being compliant as usual. Then he spoke in that commanding tone that brooked no argument:
"By the way, Delilah's being stalked by some crazy ex who tracked down her address. For safety, I'm having her stay at our apartment temporarily."
"Go home this afternoon, pack up, and take Quinn to a hotel outside the city for a few days."
His casual words felt like a knife to the chest.
I stared at him in disbelief. "You're saying that to give Delilah a safe place, you're kicking your own wife and five-year-old son out of their home?"
Sebastian's brow furrowed, his eyes cold with rationality. "You're overreacting. It's just temporary."
"Since we agreed to keep our marriage low-profile from the start, to avoid her seeing you and raising unnecessary questions, this is the most reasonable arrangement. It's to protect you and Quinn."
A bitter laugh escaped my lips.
Was it really to protect us? Or did he think my son and I were rats to be hidden away, expendable whenever his mistress needed space?
I sat back down, checked off the final item on my resignation list, and spoke flatly: "Understood. I'll take Quinn and leave this afternoon. We won't disturb you."
The absence of expected protest clearly stunned him. A flash of discomfort crossed his face as he made an awkward promise:
"Once things settle down, I'll take a week off. We'll go to Hawaii—you, me, and Quinn."
I didn't even pause in my writing, lacking even the energy to glance up and humor him. Too little, too late. His empty promises couldn't buy back anything anymore.
The deathly dismissal unsettled him. He frowned, about to say something more, when his phone buzzed. He seized the lifeline, answered hastily, and hurried away.
That afternoon, I returned to the apartment, packed two simple suitcases, and led Quinn by the hand to the entryway.
The elevator dinged open.
Sebastian, fresh from court, emerged carrying Delilah's luxury luggage, walking side by side with her.
Our eyes met. I saw panic and rigidity flash through his gaze.
Delilah covered her mouth in surprise, eyeing me and the suitcases curiously. "Evelyn? What are you doing at Sebastian's place?"
Hearing that question, I instinctively moved Quinn behind me, momentarily unable to formulate an explanation. "I..."
"They're just distant relatives of mine," Sebastian cut me off urgently. "Having some difficulties. Staying here a few days."
His speech was faster than usual, his knuckles white from gripping the suitcase handle too hard.
Distant relatives. Staying here.
Even though I'd already decided to leave, hearing those words still pierced my heart uncontrollably.
I lowered my eyes, about to swallow the humiliation and accept the lie, when the small hand in mine suddenly tightened.
Quinn had sensed my pain.
The next second, he pulled free and stepped out from behind me. Standing like a little man, he simply said,
"Goodbye, Mr. Hawthorne. Thank you for letting us stay."
