CHAPTER THREE
NORA
Day One
Maren owns three things in excess: red lipstick, legal pads, and opinions.
By nine the next morning, all three are spread across her kitchen island.
"You do not have to decide today," she says, which is what good divorce attorneys tell their best friends when they are trying not to behave like divorce attorneys.
I cradle coffee between both hands. I have not slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the red light above Camera Three.
Live.
"I decided eighteen months ago," I say. "I just kept changing the deadline."
Maren's lipstick pauses halfway to her mouth. "Tell me what that means."
The story is less dramatic when reduced to facts.
Rhett and I married in a courthouse on a Monday because the team had a road trip Tuesday. We told our families, his coach, my mother, and six friends. Damon asked us to wait until the end of the season before announcing it because NorthStar's campaign had already been negotiated.
The Breakers lost in the conference final.
Then Rhett's contract extension began.
Then my work took me overseas.
Then the documentary started.
Then the next season.
Privacy became secrecy so gradually I mistook surrender for patience.
"He always had a reason," I say. "And I always loved him enough to make the reason sound temporary."
Maren sets down the lipstick. "Did he threaten you? Control your money? Stop you from working?"
"No."
"Cheat?"
"No."
"Then I need you to hear me carefully. A marriage does not have to be monstrous to become unlivable."
My throat tightens.
She reaches across the island and covers my hand. "What do you want? Not what would punish him. Not what would save the foundation. What do you want?"
I stare at the city through her windows. Stoneharbor is bright after the storm, all glass towers and water pretending yesterday never happened.
"I want to stop disappearing."
Maren nods once.
Then she slides a yellow legal pad toward herself.
By noon, she has drafted a petition for dissolution and a temporary separation agreement. The penthouse belongs to Rhett; I never wanted it. Our finances are mostly separate. We have no children, no shared pets, no property battle.
Only the foundation.
Bennett-Callahan Futures began with my brother Eli's old hockey bag and Rhett's first professional bonus.
We provide equipment, coaching, tutoring, and travel grants to children who cannot afford competitive hockey.
The foundation owns a small community rink on the east side and has a month-long fundraising campaign beginning tomorrow.
My name is on every document. So is Rhett's.
"The sponsorship agreements require both founders at four scheduled events," Maren says. "If either of you withdraws without cause, several donors can reclaim funds."
"How much?"
She turns the page.
The number makes me close my eyes.
"The rink would close," I whisper.
"Possibly. Unless you replace the money."
I have savings. Not that much.
Rhett does.
I refuse to let him buy forgiveness with a check.
My phone lights up on the counter.
RHETT: I left your ring where you put it. I won't move it.
Another message arrives.
RHETT: Damon says the crew signed confidentiality agreements. I am not asking you to be grateful. I only wanted you to know.
Then:
RHETT: I will not come to Maren's. Tell me when you are ready to talk.
Maren watches my face. "Is he being reasonable?"
"It's irritating."
"Reasonable men are often irritating during divorce. It makes them harder to hate efficiently."
I almost smile.
The doorbell rings.
Maren's expression sharpens. "If that's him, I will bill him for the interruption."
It is not Rhett.
It is Tessa Lang, the Breakers' director of communications, carrying a laptop and looking as if she has not slept either.
"I would have called," she says, "but every phone line in our organization is currently on fire."
I let her in because Tessa has never lied to me, which now feels like an intimate credential.
She sits at the island and opens the laptop.
A paused video fills the screen.
Rhett in the conference room.
Damon leaning forward.
The red light.
My stomach drops.
"It leaked," Tessa says.
"The whole thing?"
"Twenty-three seconds. No source identified yet. It was posted twelve minutes ago."
Maren rotates the laptop.
The view count changes while we watch.
41,000.
47,000.
53,000.
The caption reads:
STONEHARBOR CAPTAIN CALLS SECRET WIFE A MISTAKE.
Secret wife.
At least the world knows I exist now.
Tessa's voice softens. "Nora, the team needs to issue a statement. Rhett refuses to approve anything without you."
"What does he want to say?"
"That the marriage is real. That his comments were cruel and false. That you deserve privacy."
Maren asks, "Does he plan to explain why his wife was secret in the first place?"
Tessa exhales. "Damon does not want that addressed."
I laugh.
It sounds almost like myself.
"Then Damon can issue whatever statement he wants," I say. "From the unemployment line."