Samantha stood abruptly.
“You want me to humiliate myself.”
“No.”
“You want me to beg.”
“No.”
“You want me to admit that I am some horrible person so you can walk out feeling righteous.”
“No.”
“Then what do you want?”
Ethan stared at her.
The question should have been easy.
For years, he wanted a future with Samantha.
Last month, he would have answered that he wanted their marriage to feel close again.
Last week, he would have said he wanted a quiet weekend with no phones.
Yesterday morning, he would have said he wanted to stop feeling like every conversation between them had become an appointment.
Now he did not know what he wanted from her.
He knew only what he wanted for himself.
“I want enough distance to make decisions without you telling me what I am supposed to forgive,” he said.
Samantha stared at him.
“That is why I am leaving today.”
“For how long?”
“I do not know.”
“A week?”
“I do not know.”
“A month?”
“I do not know.”
“Are you filing for divorce?”
Ethan looked at the attorney letter.
“I am preparing for the possibility.”
Samantha’s face went white again.
“You said possibility.”
“Yes.”
A strange hope appeared in her eyes.
Ethan saw it and immediately understood why Laura had warned him to choose his words carefully.
Hope could become bargaining.
Bargaining could become pressure.
Pressure could become manipulation.
He did not want to promise reconciliation.
He also did not want to make a life-changing decision while he had been awake for nearly twenty-six hours.
“I am not promising anything,” he said.
Samantha nodded too quickly.
“I understand.”
Ethan doubted that she did.
His phone vibrated on the table.
A message appeared from Laura.
Please call when you are alone.
There is something else in the financial documents.
Ethan read the message twice.
Then he looked at Samantha.
She was watching his face.
“What?” she asked.
Ethan turned the phone over.
“Nothing we are discussing right now.”
Samantha’s expression sharpened.
“Was that your lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“I will talk to her privately.”
“We are married, Ethan.”
The words sounded almost absurd in the room.
Ethan did not say that.
He picked up the file box.
“I am going upstairs to pack.”
Samantha stood in front of the staircase.
It was not threatening.
It was desperate.
“You cannot just walk away in the middle of this.”
“I am not walking away in the middle.”
Ethan looked toward the front door where her heels still lay on the floor.
