“How exactly would you like me to leave?”
“I made a mistake.”
“You discussed my life with my husband behind my back for weeks.”
“I know.”
“What did he ask you?”
She looked down.
“At first? Hypothetical things.”
“What things?”
“Whether you’d ever move overseas. Whether you were happy at work. Whether you still talked about wanting something different.”
I stared at her.
“And you answered?”
“Some of it.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought he was considering applying. I didn’t realize how far it had gone.”
“When did you realize?”
She swallowed.
“When he asked whether you would quit your job if the money was good enough.”
That hurt.
My job wasn’t temporary.
I had spent 11 years building my career.
Nathan knew that.
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him to ask you.”
“And?”
“He said he was afraid you’d immediately say no.”
I grabbed my bag.
Helen stood.
“Please listen to one thing before you go.”
I turned.
She took a breath.
“The photo you posted this morning had that caption.”
I frowned.
“What caption?”
“You wrote that you couldn’t imagine doing life with anyone else.”
My throat tightened.
Helen’s voice softened.
“And I knew Nathan had already decided where your life was going without asking you.”
I looked away.
That was the moment my anger at Helen shifted.
Not disappeared.
Shifted.
Because however badly she’d handled it, she was finally telling me.
Nathan hadn’t.
I drove home.
The whole way, I replayed the last month.
Nathan staying late at work.
Nathan taking calls in the garage.
Nathan asking casually whether I ever felt bored with my job.
Nathan mentioning how “interesting” it would be to live somewhere completely different for a couple of years.
I had laughed.
Once, I’d said, “I couldn’t imagine moving that far away from everyone.”
Nathan had changed the subject.
Now I knew why.
He was in the kitchen when I walked in.
He smiled.
“That was fast.”
I put my keys down.
“What did you sign last night?”
His smile disappeared.
I watched the truth arrive in his face before he said a word.
“Where were you?”
“Helen’s.”
Nathan closed his eyes.
Of course.
“Helen showed me the messages.”
He stood.
“Claire, I can explain.”
“That’s apparently going around.”
“Can you sit down?”
“No.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I accepted a position.”
“In Singapore.”
“Yes.”
“For two years.”
“Yes.”
“Starting October first.”
He nodded.
“Anything else I should know before I accidentally find out from another member of my social circle?”
“Claire…”
“Did you tell them you’re married?”
“Obviously.”
“Did you tell them your wife is coming?”
He hesitated.
That was all I needed.
“Nathan?”
“I said you’d probably relocate with me.”
I stared at him.
“You told your new employer I would probably move to Singapore before you told me you’d applied?”
“I hadn’t signed anything yet.”
“That isn’t the defense you think it is.”
He stepped closer.
“The offer is incredible.”
I actually held up a hand.
“Do not sell me the job.”
“I need you to understand why I said yes.”
“You said yes before I got to understand anything.”
He stopped.
I looked at his laptop.
“Show me the contract.”
“Claire—”
“Show me.”
He turned the computer around.
There it was.
Regional strategy director.
Two-year assignment.
Relocation allowance.
Housing assistance.
Flights home.
A salary nearly 40 percent higher than what he made now.
It was, objectively, an incredible opportunity.
That somehow made me angrier.
Because if it had been terrible, the argument would have been easy.
Then I saw another document open behind it.
A property-management company.
Our address.
“What is that?”
Nathan’s face changed again.
I clicked.
Someone had prepared a rental estimate for our house.
I looked at him.
“You had someone assess our house?”
“I was gathering information.”
“When?”
“Tuesday.”
Tuesday.
A man had come by while I was at work.
Nathan told me he was getting an estimate for repairs to the back deck.
“He wasn’t a contractor.”
“No.”
“He was here to tell you how much rent we’d get.”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“Nathan, at what point were you going to tell me?”
“I told you. Once everything was final.”
“It is final.”
“I mean once I had a complete plan.”
That phrase stopped me.
“A complete plan.”
“Yes.”
“For my life.”
“For ours.”
“No. Don’t say ours.”
