He Chose His First Love, Then Begged for My Return

The nurse never came back to stitch me up.

I sat on a plastic chair for forty minutes, watching the hallway clock. Then I peeled the tape off the back of my hand and pulled the IV line out.

A bead of blood swelled up. I pressed my thumb on it.

"Ma'am?" A young orderly stopped his cart. "You can't just leave. You haven't been discharged."

"Then bill my husband," I said. "He's in room nine, peeling apples."

Outside, the cold hit my face like a slap. I dug through my bag for my keys before I remembered. My car was a folded tin can on the FDR.

Fine. I would take a cab to the penthouse, grab the spare SUV from the garage, and drive myself somewhere quiet.

The cab pulled up. I slid in, and my leg screamed.

"Where to?"

"Fifty-Seventh and Park."

The driver pulled into traffic. Two blocks later, my stomach rolled. My mouth filled with spit. I pictured the bedroom that still smelled like Adrian's cologne.

I pictured him walking in at midnight, telling me to be rational.

"Change of plans," I said. "Take me to Carroll Gardens. Brooklyn."

The driver glanced in the mirror. "You okay, lady? You're kinda gray."

"I'm capable," I said, and laughed until it turned into a cough.

...

Nora Bell opened her door in sweatpants and a face mask. The mask cracked when her mouth fell open.

"Evie. Oh my God. Is that blood? Is that *your* blood?"

She yanked me inside and pushed me down onto her couch. Her cat bolted under the radiator.

"Don't move." She ran for the bathroom and came back with a first-aid kit the size of a toolbox. "What happened? Who did this? Do I need a shovel?"

"Car accident. FDR."

"And you came *here*? Not home?" She soaked a cotton pad and dabbed my forehead. I winced. "Sorry, sorry. Hold still. Where's Adrian?"

I didn't answer.

Nora stopped dabbing. "Evelyn. Where is your husband?"

"With Serena." I stared at her bookshelf.

"Serena. College Serena?"

"She had a scraped elbow."

The cotton pad hit the coffee table with a wet slap.

"He *left* you for a scraped elbow?"

"He didn't leave me. He just didn't come." I held out my right arm. The emergency bandage had slipped and soaked through. "He was in a meeting. Then he wasn't."

Nora unwound the old gauze with tight, angry fingers. She muttered the whole time.

"That smug, cuff-linked, golf-playing piece of garbage. I'm going to key his Porsche. I'm going to put shrimp in his air vents."

"He said I was paranoid." My voice came out flat. "In the hallway. Loud. He said nobody would look twice at me without the Vale name."

Her hands froze on my arm.

"He said I'd come back. Because of the penthouse. The cards."

Nora wrapped fresh gauze around my forearm, slower now. Careful.

"Evie, you were a senior strategist at Halbrook. You had a corner office before you were thirty."

"I know."

"You quit."

"Because somebody had to run the house and the dinners and the charity boards." My throat closed up. I forced the words through anyway. "I learned how he likes his coffee. Which client hates shellfish. Which tie he wears when he's nervous. I never touched his money, Nora. I never even wanted the ring that big."

She taped the gauze down without a word.

"I married him because I loved him," I said. "That's it. That's the whole stupid reason."

Nora sat back on her heels. Her eyes were wet, but her voice came out hard.

"I know that. I've always known that." She took a breath. "But he doesn't, babe. He never did."

"What do you mean?"

"Your wedding. The reception. I went out for air and heard him on the terrace with his groomsmen." She looked away. "One of them joked that you hit the jackpot. And Adrian said, 'Everybody's got a price. At least hers is pretty.'"

The room went very quiet. Even the radiator stopped hissing.

"You never told me that."

"You were glowing. You were so happy." Nora gripped my good hand. "I thought he'd grow out of it. I was wrong. Divorce him, Evie. Fast. Before he figures out how to make you the villain."

I looked down at my wedding band. It had a smear of dried blood on it.

"Tomorrow," I said. "I'm finding a job."

"Tomorrow you're resting."

"Tomorrow I'm finding a job. I'm done being something he pays for."

...

Lark & Pruitt Brand Group sat on the forty-first floor of a glass tower in Hudson Yards. I wore Nora's blazer over my bandaged arm and swept my bangs over the stitches the urgent care clinic had finally given me that morning.

The interviewer, Dana Okafor, flipped through my portfolio twice.

"You built the Halbrook luxury rebrand?"

"I led it."

"That campaign is still taught in grad school." She closed the folder and smiled. "Your career gap doesn't bother me. Honestly, I'd hire you today. I just need Martin to sign off. Can you wait in the hall?"

"Of course."

I sat on a leather bench outside the CEO's office. My leg ached. My heart was racing anyway, the good kind of racing. The kind I hadn't felt in four years.

Martin Kessler's door was open a crack. His phone was on speaker.

"Adrian! Good to hear from you. How's the Hartley thing?"

My spine went rigid.

"Closing next week." My husband's voice. Smooth. Warm. "Listen, Martin, I need a favor. You've got that associate strategist role open?"

"We do. Actually, Dana's got a strong candidate right—"

"Hold it for me. I have someone. Serena Whitmore."

I gripped my résumé so hard the paper buckled.

"Serena... is she in branding?"

"She did some freelance. Instagram stuff." A soft laugh. "Look, she needs something light, something with good people around her. You'd be doing me a personal favor."

"What if I say no?"

"The Vale account renewal would go very smoothly."

A pause. Then Martin chuckled. "Tell her to come on Monday."

"You're a good friend, Martin."

I stood up. Dana was walking toward me down the hall, my file in her hand, her face already falling.

"Evelyn, I'm so sorry. Something's come up—"

"I heard."

"It's not about you. You're the most qualified person I've seen all year."

"I know," I said. "That's the funny part."

I dropped the crumpled résumé in the trash can by the elevator. The doors closed on her stunned face.

...

Nora was waiting with takeout when I got back to Brooklyn.

"Well? Corner office? Stock options?"

"Serena got it."

The chopsticks slipped out of her hand. "*What?*"

"He called the CEO while I was sitting outside the door. Said she needed the position to recover." I sank onto the couch. "He didn't even know I was there. He wasn't trying to hurt me. He just never thought about me at all."

Nora opened her mouth. Shut it. Then she grabbed a pillow and screamed into it.

My phone buzzed on the cushion.

Adrian.

Come home when you've calmed down.

I read it once. Then again. Five words, and not one of them was *are you hurt*.

"What does he want?" Nora asked, muffled by the pillow.

"Me. Calm. Quiet. Grateful."

I opened his contact. My thumb hovered over the screen.

Block this caller.

I pressed it.

The screen went still, and for the first time in two days, so did my hands.