Chapter 4 - THE RING ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER
I returned to our apartment at four that afternoon.
Our apartment.
The phrase felt strange.
It was a two-bedroom condominium overlooking the Hudson, purchased eighteen months earlier.
The mortgage was in both our names.
The down payment had come mostly from my savings.
Donovan had promised to reimburse his share after receiving his annual bonus.
He never had.
I walked into the bedroom and opened the closet.
My wedding dress hung behind a protective garment bag.
Ivory silk.
Long sleeves.
A neckline my mother said made me look like my grandmother.
I had chosen it because I loved it.
Not because Donovan approved.
That realization hurt more than I expected.
I took off my engagement ring.
Placed it on the kitchen counter.
Then called the wedding planner.
“Marianne, it's Sloan.”
Her voice brightened.
“Wonderful! I was just about to send the updated floral proposal.”
“I need to cancel the wedding.”
Silence.
Then:
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
She took a breath.
“All right. We'll review the contracts and cancellation terms.”
I appreciated that she didn't ask why.
By six, I had notified the venue, photographer, caterer, and officiant.
I didn't pretend the deposits would all be refundable.
I simply wanted the machinery of the wedding to stop.
At seven-twelve, Donovan came home.
He found me packing a suitcase.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I folded a sweater.
“Leaving.”
He looked toward the kitchen counter.
Saw the ring.
His face changed.
“You're serious?”
“Yes.”
“Over a seat?”
I stopped.
Then looked at him.
“No.”
He spread his hands.
“Then what?”
“Over five years of being told that every boundary I have is selfish.”
Donovan laughed sharply.
“You're rewriting our relationship because you had a bad morning.”
I stared at him.
“You gave my seat to your intern.”
“She was sick.”
“You touched her hair.”
“She was upset.”
“You gave her my presentation.”
“She needed an opportunity.”
I waited.
He looked away.
Then I asked the question I'd been avoiding.
“Are you sleeping with her?”
His expression hardened.
“That's insulting.”
“It's a question.”
“No.”
I studied him.
He seemed relieved by the answer.
Because he believed that if he hadn't crossed that particular line, nothing else counted.
I zipped my suitcase.
“I'm leaving tonight. We'll discuss the apartment through attorneys.”
Donovan stepped toward me.
“Sloan, you're throwing away five years.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
May you like
I picked up my bag.
“I'm refusing to throw away the next fifty.”
