Chapter 10: The Quiet House

Matthias came home at ten on Sunday morning with Clarissa on his arm and a headache behind both eyes.

The brownstone was exactly as he'd left it.

The shoes were lined up by the door and the plants were watered.

On the kitchen counter lay one brass key.

He picked it up.

It was still warm from the sun through the window.

"She's gone," Clarissa said gently, behind him. "Oh, Matt. I'm so sorry."

He took out his phone.

There was a text from Esme, sent at 11:48 the night before, while he was shaking hands at the party.

"Do not look for me. I am fine. Please be kind to yourself."

Please be kind.

He read it three times and then called her, and it rang out.

He called again, and it went to voicemail.

He did not leave a message.

He had never learned what to say to a machine.

The petition had been in her hand when she walked out.

He knew what he had signed, and he knew that she had known he would.

She had counted on his pride.

"It's another man," Clarissa said, very quietly. "It has to be. Nobody just leaves like that."

He didn't answer.

He hated that it was the only reasoning that fit.

In his coat pocket there was something small and hard that he hadn't noticed.

He drew it out wrapped in a cocktail napkin.

It was the gold band.

The chairwoman's assistant had pressed it into his hand at the coat check, apologetic, still wet from champagne.

He stood holding it in the middle of his own kitchen.

Then he opened his wallet to put it somewhere safe, and the photograph slid out onto the counter.

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