Chapter 3 - THE HUSBAND WHO ASKED HER TO APOLOGIZE
Z
Spencer waited in the hallway outside the lounge.
His expression was furious, but he lowered his voice when he saw me.
"What are you doing?"
I stared at him.
"Getting my arm treated."
"You embarrassed my mother in front of everyone."
I almost laughed.
"Your mother dug her nails into me until I bled."
"She was trying to get your attention."
"With her nails?"
He rubbed his forehead.
"Please don't start."
There it was again. The phrase that had ended a thousand conversations in our marriage.
Don't start.
Don't make trouble.
Don't turn everything into an argument.
I had spent years making myself smaller so Spencer wouldn't have to choose between me and his mother.
Tonight, he hadn't even pretended to choose me.
"June, this dinner is important. Castellano might be able to help with the waterfront deal. Do you understand what that means for the company?"
I looked at him.
"Is that why you're upset? Because I ruined your chance to impress him?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Then tell me why you haven't asked whether I'm all right."
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
For one brief moment, I thought I might see the husband I had married—the man who once drove through a snowstorm to bring me soup when I had the flu.
Then his face hardened.
"You're making this much bigger than it needs to be. My mother has always been difficult. You know that. You could have handled it privately."
"I tried."
"Then you should have tried harder."
Something inside me went quiet.
Not broken.
Quiet.
I looked at the man standing before me and realized I had spent three years waiting for him to become someone he had repeatedly chosen not to be.
"I need to go home," I said.
"Fine. I'll have the driver take you."
"No. I'll arrange my own ride."
His eyes narrowed.
"You're going to leave me here?"
"You've been sitting with your business partners all evening. I think you'll manage."
I walked past him.
He didn't follow.
---
Anthony had arranged for the restaurant's manager to call a car service. He also offered to have a female security professional accompany me, but I declined.
I wanted to get home without another person deciding what was best for me.
Before I left, Anthony handed me a business card.
"My attorney's number is on the back. If you need independent legal advice or help finding a safe place to stay, call. You won't owe me anything."
I slipped it into my purse.
"Thank you."
He nodded.
"Don't thank me for noticing."
---
The drive home took forty minutes.
I sat in the back seat watching Manhattan slide past the windows, my bandaged arm resting in my lap.
My phone vibrated repeatedly.
Spencer: Where are you?
Spencer: Mother is very upset.
Spencer: You need to call her and apologize.
Then:
We will discuss this when I get home.
I turned off the screen.
Our apartment was quiet when I arrived. I went directly to the bedroom and opened the closet.
My passport was in a small document case behind a stack of sweaters. I took it out, along with my birth certificate, bank information, and the envelope containing the money I'd saved from freelance editing work.
The money wasn't much.
But it was mine.
I packed a suitcase.
Then I sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the elevator outside our apartment.
When the front door finally opened, Spencer called my name.
"June?"
I didn't answer.
He appeared in the bedroom doorway and stared at the suitcase.
"What is this?"
"I'm going to stay somewhere else for a while."
His expression changed from anger to disbelief.
"You're leaving me over a scratched arm?"
"No."
I zipped the suitcase.
"I'm leaving because you've watched your mother hurt me for three years and every time, you've asked me to make her feel better."
He stepped into the room.
"You're being emotional."
I looked at him.
"No, Spencer. I'm finally being honest."
For a moment, he seemed unable to recognize me.
Then he said the one thing that made my decision easier.
"If you walk out, don't expect me to chase you."
I lifted my suitcase.
"I don't."
And I walked past him.
---
I spent that night in a modest hotel near my old neighborhood.
The room smelled faintly of detergent and coffee. The curtains didn't quite close, and the heater rattled every few minutes.
It was the most peaceful place I'd been in years.
At 2:13 a.m., my phone rang.
An unfamiliar number.
I almost ignored it.
Then I remembered the card.
"Hello?"
"June Bennett?" a woman asked.
"Yes."
"My name is Sofia Ramirez. I'm a lawyer with Castellano's legal office. Mr. Castellano asked me to offer you an independent consultation if you want one. I want to be clear that you don't have to accept."
I sat up.
"Why would he do that?"
"Because he believes you may need advice about your options. I can also provide referrals to services that help people experiencing domestic abuse. You can decide what, if anything, is useful."
I looked at the bandage around my arm.
For years, I had believed my choices were limited to enduring Lorraine or destroying my marriage.
Now someone was telling me there might be other options.
"Can we meet tomorrow?" I asked.
"Of course," Sofia replied. "Would you prefer a public office or a neutral location?"
I thought for a moment.
"A public office."
"That works. I'll send you the details."
When the call ended, I lay back against the pillow.
I didn't know what would happen to my marriage.
I didn't know whether Spencer would apologize or whether Lorraine would retaliate.
May you like
But for the first time, I wasn't making my next decision based on what would keep them happy.
I was making it based on what would keep me safe.
