Chapter 14: The Doormat Rule

On Monday morning I went back to the Hartford apartment for my things.

I had two hours before my lawyer filed the divorce petition, and I meant to be gone before Ethan came home.

He had not spent the night here.

His side of the closet was untouched.

The spare room was made up with the sheets he'd said I could sleep on until spring.

I stripped them off and threw them in a pile in the hall.

I was folding my scrubs into a box when someone knocked.

Two knocks, patient, and then nothing.

Samson stood on the landing in his charcoal coat with snow on the shoulders.

He held a long cream envelope in one hand.

"I'm not coming in," he said.

"You're standing in my doorway."

"I'm standing on a doormat. It's different."

I almost smiled, and I was angry about that too.

"What do you want, Samson?"

"My grandmother's proposal arrived at eight." He held the envelope out. "It's addressed to you, and I haven't opened it."

I looked at the seal.

It was Eleanor's, pressed in dark red wax, and unbroken.

"She'll want to know what's in my head," I said. "She'll ask you."

"Then I'll tell her I don't know, because I don't."

"You could have read it and told me what it says."

"I could have," he said. "Then you'd be taking my word for it."

I took the envelope.

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