Chapter 3

The eight million landed right on time the next morning.

I stared at that string of zeros, and for a moment my mood lifted a little.

Money can't heal heartbreak. But it can at least give you a place of your own to lie down and hurt in slowly.

I contacted an agent to go inspect the apartment, then sent the car in for an appraisal.

When Simon found out, he threw down his spoon at the breakfast table.

"I just signed the car over to you, and you're already selling it?"

"I can't drive something that big, and the upkeep is expensive."

"There's a driver at home."

I reminded him. "After the divorce, the driver still belongs to the Graves family."

Simon went quiet.

After a while, his face cold, he said, "Brendan Dickerson goes with you from now on."

The driver waiting at the doorway visibly froze.

So did I.

There's a limit to how much a person can take. A driver has his own life. You can't cart him off like a case of wine.

I shook my head quickly.

"That's not necessary. I can learn to drive."

Simon's expression got worse.

"You're afraid of cars. How are you going to learn?"

I was in an accident when I was seventeen, and after that I couldn't bring myself to sit in the driver's seat.

Simon had tried to teach me plenty of times.

Every time I gripped the wheel I'd break into a cold sweat, and he would fold my hand into his and tell me not to be afraid.

That patience of his had been real.

But there's a long road between a man who was once good to you and a man who will keep choosing you.

I lowered my head and drank my porridge.

"I'll take it slow. I'll get there eventually."

That afternoon I went back to the room to pack my clothes.

Simon came home from work early. He pushed the door open, saw the cardboard boxes on the bed, and stood in the doorway without moving.

"The apartment isn't even ready yet. What's the rush?"

"The agent says I can move in this weekend."

I took my own clothes out of the closet. They filled less than half of it.

The wedding gown I'd bought when we married still hung all the way at the back.

Simon reached out and pressed a hand on a box.

"You don't need to take that. There's room for it here."

I followed his gaze to the gown.

"I'm planning to list it on a resale site. I only wore it once, and it's been kept well."

"Judith!"

He bit down on my name, his face dark. "Are you really that desperate for money?"

I wanted to say yes.

Before I turned eighteen, I'd counted every meal against my adoptive mother's medical bills.

After I married Simon, my account held a lot of money, but I could never bring myself to store my sense of security in his bank card.

The words came to the edge of my tongue, and I traded them for a joke.

"Even eight million won't last if you just sit and eat through it."

Simon took the gown out of the closet and hung it back where it had been.

"You're not selling it."

"Then will you buy it?"

He stalled for a second.

I pulled out my phone, looked up what it had cost back then, and knocked off the odd change for him.

Simon let out a laugh of pure anger and transferred the money on the spot.

The payment alert chimed. I promised him the gown would stay right here, exactly as it was.

He looked at the emptied closet. The anger in his eyes hadn't faded. If anything, something restless had crept in beside it, something I couldn't name.

It struck me then that what he really wanted to keep might have nothing to do with the gown.

But he didn't say a thing.

So I went back to taping the box shut.

Simon seemed on the verge of speaking again when Cindy came down the stairs.

She'd changed out of the white dress and was wearing one of Simon's black shirts.

The spoon in my hand paused for a beat.

Cindy caught my look and tugged at the hem.

"My dress got wine on it last night, and Simon told me to wear his for now. Don't read into it."

I smiled and said it was fine.

The agreement was signed anyway, and the position was already being handed over.

If the real employee helped herself to the boss's personal things early, the stand-in had no channel to file a complaint.

Simon looked at me and explained in a low voice, "The guest room's empty anyway. She's only staying two days."

"Sure."

I answered too fast, and that familiar irritation surfaced in his eyes again.

Cindy sat down across from me, the sapphire at her throat catching the morning light.

"The necklace is a little tight. Simon said he'd take me to have it resized sometime."

I looked at it carefully.

"It is tight. Better to size it up, or it'll cut off your circulation."

Whatever Cindy had lined up to say stuck on her lips.

Simon shot to his feet.

The chair legs scraped the floor with a harsh screech.

"Judith, do you have to talk like this?"

I looked up, blank.

"I'm just showing concern for Miss Cox."

He stared at me for a few seconds, then grabbed his coat and walked out of the dining room.

Cindy watched him go, the smile fading from her face.

She lowered her voice and asked me, "You're really willing to let it all go?"

I touched my bare neck.

"Willing or not, I can't just take it. That would hurt my severance."

She looked at me for a long moment, as if she couldn't tell whether I was joking or telling the truth.

I couldn't tell either.

When the ache in my chest flared up, the happiness eight million had brought always went quiet for a while.