After His Mistress Framed Me for Hurting His Niece

The bathrobe arrived on the fourth day.

I found the box on the doorstep when I came back from physical therapy. My knee was still wrapped. My ribs still screamed when I breathed too deep. The package had no return address. Just my name in neat block letters.

I opened it in the kitchen.

Inside was my bathrobe. The white one with the embroidered collar. The one I'd left hanging in the master bathroom when I moved my things to the guest room.

It smelled like her perfume.

There was a note tucked in the pocket. Thanks for letting me borrow this! So soft. — K

I held it for a long time. Then I walked it to the trash can and dropped it in.

The flowers came the next morning.

Two dozen white roses in a crystal vase. The card said: For Mrs. Hawkins — the new one.

The delivery man waited while I signed. He smiled like he thought he was part of something romantic.

I set the vase on the kitchen island. I didn't throw them out. I wanted Dalton to see them when he got home.

He came in at seven. He saw the flowers. He picked up the card and read it. His face didn't change.

"Kori has a weird sense of humor," he said.

He put the card down and opened the fridge.

I stood at the counter and watched him pull out a beer. Twist the cap. Take a long drink.

"That's it?" I said.

"What do you want me to say?" He didn't look at me. "She's trying to get a rise out of you. Don't give her one."

"She sent my bathrobe back."

He paused. Just for a second. Then he took another drink.

"I'll talk to her."

He didn't.

That night I heard him on the phone in the bedroom. His voice was low. I couldn't make out the words. But I heard him laugh.

I sat on the guest bed with my laptop and scrolled through apartment listings in San Francisco. One bedroom. Hardwood floors. Close to my father's house.

Five days left.

On the sixth day, Dalton came home early.

I was in the kitchen making tea. My knee was better. I could walk without limping. The bruises on my ribs had started to fade from black to green.

He dropped his keys on the counter. The sound was too loud.

"We need to talk," he said.

I poured the hot water. Watched the tea bag bloom.

"Okay."

"This has to stop."

I looked at him. He was standing with his arms crossed. His jaw was tight. He looked like a man who'd been building to this conversation for days.

"What has to stop?" I asked.

"The scenes. The drama. Slapping Kori in front of half of Seattle." He shook his head. "It's embarrassing, Everly. For both of us."

I set the kettle down. Very carefully.

"Embarrassing," I repeated.

"Yes." He leaned against the counter. "I know this is hard. I know you're upset. But you need to accept reality and move on."

The tea bag floated in the mug. I watched it turn the water amber.

"Was she ever just a friend?" I asked.

His arms tightened across his chest.

"What?"

"Kori." I looked at him. "You told me for three years she was just a friend. One of the guys. Was that ever true?"

His jaw worked. He looked away. Looked at the flowers still sitting on the island. Looked back at me.

"That's a ridiculous question."

"Is it?"

"Yes." He pushed off the counter. Crossed to the coffee maker. Poured himself a cup even though it was six in the evening and he never drank coffee after three. "You're trying to rewrite history because you're hurt. I get it. But it doesn't change the facts."

"What are the facts?"

He took a drink. Didn't answer.

"Dalton."

"The fact is," he said, "we're getting divorced. The fact is, you need to let go. The fact is, making a scene every time you see me with someone else just makes you look—"

He stopped.

"Look what?" My voice was very quiet.

He set the mug down. Picked up his keys.

"I have a meeting," he said.

He walked out.

I stood in the kitchen and listened to the front door close. Listened to his car start. Listened to the sound fade down the street.

Then I picked up my phone and called my father.

"I need the movers," I said. "Four days from now."

"I'll have them there at eight," he said.

I hung up. I looked at the flowers on the island. At the card still sitting next to the vase.

I picked up the whole arrangement and walked it to the trash. The vase shattered when it hit the bottom.

Four days left.