Smart Women Don't Divorce , They Become Widows

My father looked surprised.

“Grace, the food's different tonight?”

My mother smiled, soft as ever.

“I used to worry so much about your health. But lately I've been thinking—life's short. Being happy is what matters.”

“You've been under so much pressure. I just want you to enjoy yourself.”

That hit home.

He shoveled meat into his mouth, sighing contentedly between bites.

“Finally you get it.”

“All that bland health food before—I couldn't even taste anything.”

“Grace, I like you so much better this way.”

My mother smiled and piled several more pieces onto his plate.

“Then eat up.”

And that wasn't all.

She stopped nagging him about the smoking and drinking. Stopped watching to make sure he took his blood pressure medication. Stopped waking him at midnight to brew herbal tea for his stomach.

One night he stumbled in at two in the morning, reeking of liquor, clutching his chest and complaining it felt tight.

The old version of my mother would've had him in the ER before he finished the sentence.

But this time.

She just strolled over and poured him a glass of ice-cold beer.

“It's just work stress.”

“Have a drink, let it settle. You'll feel fine after some sleep.”

He wasn't angry. If anything, when he woke up the next morning, he told her it felt like when they first started dating. Said the house finally felt like a real home. Comfortable. He could eat whatever he wanted, do whatever he wanted.

My mother didn't answer. She just bent her head and straightened the collar he'd soaked with spilled liquor.

“As long as you're happy.”

The lamplight fell across her face, making her look like the most ordinary, devoted wife in the world.

But only I saw it.

When she lowered her eyes, the cold deepening there. The hatred settling in.

And in her notebook, the numbers she was tracking—my father's weight climbing higher, his blood pressure rising with it.

I wasn't sitting idle either.

The moment something actually happened to my father, Deborah Walker and Albert would never stay hidden. They'd smell blood like sharks and come tearing in to grab the company, the shares, the right to call themselves “Lawrences.”

What I needed to do was lock down my position as the “sole Lawrence heir” while they were still in the shadows—so that even if Albert tried to step forward later, he'd look like a joke.

With that in mind, I called my college roommate Clementine Fox.

She'd made a name for herself as a street-interview livestreamer—half a million followers, and nobody was better at manufacturing a viral moment.

She picked up and I got straight to it.

“Clem, I've got a story that could blow up. You in?”

That got her attention immediately.

“How big are we talking?”

I looked out the window and let myself smile.

“Big enough to put someone on a pedestal overnight.”

The next day, I went to the shopping district where she usually streamed, right on schedule.

Once the camera was rolling, Clementine pretended she didn't know me and tapped my shoulder with a grin.

“Hey gorgeous! We're doing random street interviews—you can either take a hundred bucks or answer some questions. Your pick!”

I pretended to think for a second. “I'll do the interview.”

“A girl this pretty—you were definitely raised by people who adored you, right?”

I ducked my head with a shy little laugh.

“I guess so.”

“My parents have always been really in love.”

“My mom told me my dad was dirt poor when he was young. Those first few years of building the business, they lived in a basement apartment. In winter the floor was always damp, the walls sweated water when you touched them, and the sheets never fully dried.”

“But even when things were at their hardest, my dad never let my mom suffer.”

“Later, once the company took off, there were obviously a lot of temptations around him.”

I paused here, then let myself flash the kind of smile only a girl who'd been spoiled her whole life would have.

“But he never once strayed.”