Vivian’s mouth tightened.
“You discussed where I sleep with a lawyer.”
“We are divorcing.”
Again that phrase.
Each time he said it, she looked as though the floor shifted.
Vivian stood.
“What if I refuse?”
“Then nothing dramatic happens tonight.”
“This is still your residence.”
“I’m not throwing you out.”
“I’m not calling police.”
“I’m sleeping in the primary bedroom.”
“You can use the guest suite.”
“And tomorrow our lawyers can talk.”
Vivian stared at him.
“You really prepared for this.”
“Yes.”
“You spent eleven days dismantling us.”
“No.”
Ethan looked toward the folder.
“I spent eleven days accepting that you already had.”
Vivian carried her suitcase upstairs.
Ethan remained in the living room.
Ten minutes later, he heard a door close.
Then another.
Then silence.
At 1:30 a.m., he woke because someone stood in the bedroom doorway.
Vivian.
Without makeup.
Barefoot.
Wearing the old gray T-shirt she had slept in for years.
For one second she looked exactly like his wife.
Not the woman at the Corwin.
Not Mason’s lover.
Not a litigant.
Vivian.
He sat up.
“What is it?”
She held the doorframe.
“I can’t sleep.”
Ethan said nothing.
“I keep thinking this is unreal.”
“I know.”
“Can I come in?”
His chest hurt.
“No.”
Her face folded.
“Ethan.”
“Please.”
He looked away.
“Don’t make me negotiate this at one in the morning.”
She remained there.
“I’m scared.”
“So am I.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
Ethan looked at her.
“You were willing to risk me.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“To the person being risked, it is.”
Vivian began crying again.
“I thought Mason loved me.”
Ethan swallowed.
He did not want that confession.
“He probably thought he did.”
“No.”
“He loved how I made him feel.”
“That’s different.”
Ethan almost said something cruel.
Then stopped.
Vivian did not need cruelty.
She needed consequences.
He said:
“You need to sleep.”
“Tomorrow call your lawyer.”
“And probably a therapist.”
She gave him a wounded look.
“You think I’m broken.”
“No.”
“I think you need someone who isn’t me to help you understand why you believed destroying our boundaries was the same as finding yourself.”
Vivian stared.
Then nodded once.
She closed the door.
Ethan lay awake until morning.
Living under the same roof lasted four days.
It was unbearable.
They moved around each other politely.
Coffee.
Doors.
Mail.
The strange domestic choreography of two people who had shared a bed for twelve years and now spoke primarily through attorneys.
Vivian tried once to cook dinner.
Ethan came home to pasta and wine.