Chapter 14
Elise
I pack two suitcases.
Not because I only own two suitcases.
Because taking everything would turn leaving into theater, and I am too tired to perform.
Bennett is at the office when I carry the first bag to the elevator.
He asked if I wanted him to stay home.
I told him no.
For once, he listened.
The apartment looks untouched around me. Art he chose with a consultant. Chairs we never sit in. The piano I insisted on buying even though neither of us plays it well. On the kitchen counter, the peonies have begun to brown at the edges.
I walk through the rooms once before packing, not because I expect to find an answer but because memory keeps attaching itself to objects.
The dent in the hallway wall came from the night Bennett tried to carry a bookshelf by himself during our move.
The tiny burn on the kitchen counter came from our second anniversary, when I lit too many candles and he dropped one while laughing.
The guest bedroom was supposed to become a nursery one day, then a studio, then simply became a room where unopened boxes went to wait.
Our life is not fake. That is what makes leaving brutal. There were Sunday mornings and airport reunions, bad jokes whispered at charity dinners, his hand finding mine under blankets, my head on his shoulder during storms. Neglect did not erase love. Love did not erase neglect.
I wish one truth would kill the other.
I throw them away.
Then feel guilty.
Then get angry that I feel guilty.
Upstairs, I stand in front of the closet and take six dresses, three pairs of jeans, rehearsal clothes, concert blacks, and the sweater Bennett steals whenever we travel somewhere cold.
I leave the sweater.
My cello case waits by the bedroom door.
That matters more than the suitcases.
Before I go, I sit at Bennett's desk.
I do not want to text him.
I do not want my leaving compressed into blue bubbles and typing dots.
So I write by hand.
Bennett,
I am safe. I am not leaving because I think you slept with Maren. I am leaving because I finally understand that the problem is bigger than Maren.
I stop.
Start again beneath it.
I have spent years trying to become the easiest part of your life. I thought being understanding made me loving. I did not notice when understanding became disappearing.
My hand cramps.
You love me. I believe that. But the way you live does not leave enough room for me to experience that love. You give emergencies your attention, work your fear, Maren your first call, and me whatever is left after you have been useful to everyone else.
I breathe through the ache in my chest.
I am not asking you to fire her. I am not asking you to destroy Halcyon. I am not asking for a bigger anniversary.
I am asking for space because I no longer know who I am inside a marriage where I keep volunteering to need less.
I accepted a ten-week chamber residency. I am staying at Tessa's while she is away. Please do not come there unless I invite you. Please do not send gifts. Please do not call my parents. Please do not use your staff to solve this.
Then the hardest line.
I am going to speak with a lawyer about legal separation.
The words look foreign.
I almost tear the page.
Instead I finish.
This is not punishment. It is the first honest thing I have done for myself in a long time.
Elise
I fold the letter once.
Place it on his desk.
My wedding ring goes beside it.
I stand there staring at both.
For eight years, that ring has meant I chose him.
I am beginning to understand that marriage cannot survive if the choice only points one direction.
The elevator doors open.
I step inside with two suitcases and a cello.
No dramatic music.
No one chasing me down the hallway.
As the doors close, I see our apartment for one last second.
Then my reflection replaces it.
Tessa does not tell me what decision to make. That is one of the reasons I trust her.
This is one of the reasons I trust her.
Before I leave the penthouse, she comes over wearing leggings, a wool coat over rehearsal clothes, and the expression of a woman prepared to commit a minor felony on my behalf if asked.
I make coffee.
She stares at the mug.
"You made coffee."
"Apparently trauma doesn't exempt me from caffeine."
"I was hoping for champagne."
"It's nine in the morning."
"Fine. Mimosas."
I almost smile.
The internet is still doing what the internet does.
A clip of Bennett's speech has been reposted with subtitles.
One account has slowed the camera cut to my face and added dramatic piano music.
Another has put my wedding photo beside a gala photo of Bennett and Maren with a caption about billionaires having "work wives. "
I turn my phone over.
"I don't want revenge," I say.
Tessa sits across from me. "Good."
"I don't want to tell reporters anything."
"Also good."
"I don't want Maren fired."
"Very mature. Slightly disappointing."
"Tessa."
"I'm kidding."
She reaches across the table.
"What do you want?"
The question is so unfamiliar that I resent it.
"I want my husband to understand."
"And if he doesn't?"
There it is.
The question underneath every year I stayed gentle.
I look toward the living room where my cello case rests beside the chair.
"I don't know."
"You do."
I shake my head.
Tessa opens her bag and pulls out a folder.
"I was going to wait until after the gala because I knew you'd say the timing was terrible."
"What is it?"
"Ten-week residency. Cellist dropped out because her mother is ill. Starts Monday."
I stare at her.
"No."
"You haven't read it."
"I don't need to."
"Exactly."
She pushes the folder closer.
"You've been calculating Bennett before you calculate yourself for so long that you don't even notice the order anymore."
"That's not fair."
The phrase leaves my mouth and makes both of us freeze.
Then Tessa laughs.
"Oh, honey."
I close my eyes.
"God."
"Welcome to the family business."
I open the folder.
Ten weeks. Three rehearsals a week. Two public performances. Outreach concerts. A modest stipend that would have thrilled twenty-five-year-old me and barely registers against the joint accounts now.
It is not Vienna.
It is not a comeback montage.
It is work.
Real work.
I want it so sharply my throat hurts.
"What about my students?"
"I already checked. You can keep Tuesdays and shift two of them online."
"You already checked?"
"I am a meddling artist."
I read the schedule again.
My mind begins its old work automatically.
Bennett has the Senate panel in two weeks. He has the product launch. Thanksgiving planning. His father usually becomes unstable around—
I stop.
Tessa sees it happen.
"What?"
"I was doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Building his calendar before mine."