Page 5 of Walking Away

As the embers faded, one of the women grinned at Darcy. “Enjoy these quiet nights, honey. Someday it won’t be men keeping you up—it’ll be hot flashes.”

“Hear, hear,” another called, raising her glass. Laughter rippled through the circle.

Darcy flushed, laughed with them, and realized she was decades younger but belonged there all the same.

She sipped her wine—felt the heat spread, the words and laughter warmer still. For the first time in weeks, she felt almost normal.

When the night ebbed, Darcy slipped under the covers and let her grandmother’s words steady her breath.Let me outlast the dark, just one more night.

Even though the evening had been warm and full of laughter, she still listened for footsteps.

Chapter 4

Fracture

Caitlin

She didn’t know how long she’d lain there, tears soaking the floor, before she finally pulled herself upright. Step by step, she climbed the back stairs to the primary suite—the room where she and Jason had made love just days ago.

It felt like grief, as though someone had died.

How? Why? Please, God, why?

The hallway pictures watched her as she passed—smiling vacations, champagne toasts, a selfie on the Cape with wind in their hair.

Proof of a life she’d believed in. Of a man she’d trusted.

The frames felt crooked even though they were straight, mocking her with the illusion of perfection.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, sharp in the silence. A Venmo charge flashed across the display—Jason had paid for dinner.

The number was obscene for a weeknight.

Nausea surged as her imagination filled in the blanks: a pricey cut of steak, oysters, a bottle with a wax seal, and a waiterwho presented it like a crown. Jason always loved to show off—especially with an audience.

She drew a bath in the soaker tub, pouring in luxury oil and watching the water swirl. The scent—amber and vanilla—rose warm and sweet, a smell she used to associate with comfort, with slow Sunday mornings and his hands on her back.

Stripping off her clothes, she lowered herself into the heat, the silky foam cradling her.

When she emerged, she patted her skin dry with one of the soft white towels he’d bought in bulk—because only the best—pulled on her elegant white silk nightgown, and settled in to wait.

Her mind spun circles in the dim light of the bedroom, eyes fixed on the door.

Should I confront him? Pretend I don’t know? Did I really see what I think I saw?

The questions knotted tighter and tighter.

She replayed the moment again and again—Jason at Mizuna, the blonde in that stunning black dress, his hand on her shoulder, the kiss.

Her gaze snagged on the dress hanging from the closet door—the navy one he said made her eyes look like ocean glass.

He’d twirled her in that dress at his firm’s gala, their laughter ridiculous and young in a room full of careful smiles.

He loves me.

The thought rose like a reflex—and then collapsed under its own weight.

She scrolled up to his last text:Sorry, honey. Working late. Big closing tomorrow. Don’t wait up.