After My Husband Chose His Mistress Over My Mother

I set the table with the white linen napkins Curtis's mother gave us for our first anniversary. Five years ago. The candles were already lit. Two tall ones in the silver holders. The flames didn't flicker. The air conditioning kept the apartment too cold for that.

I smoothed the tablecloth and placed the manila envelope next to his plate. The divorce papers were inside. I'd signed every page that morning at the lawyer's office on Madison Avenue. My signature looked steady. I was proud of that.

Next to the envelope, I set a cardboard box. Inside were Curtis's earliest architectural sketches. The ones from when he was a graduate student eating ramen in that studio apartment in Morningside Heights. I'd kept them organized in labeled archival folders for years. Chronological order. I even wrote dates on the ones he forgot to mark. I thought he'd want them back.

The front door opened at seven forty-three. Curtis walked in with his jacket over his arm and his phone in his hand. His thumb moved across the screen. He didn't look up.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi."

He dropped his jacket on the chair by the door. The same chair. Every night. He walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. I heard the crack of a beer bottle opening.

"Dinner's ready," I said.

He came back holding the bottle. His eyes went to the table. The candles. The napkins. The envelope. He frowned.

"What's this?"

"It's our anniversary."

He blinked. "Right. Sorry. I forgot to—"

"It's fine."

He sat down across from me. He set his phone face-up next to his plate. The screen lit up twice while I watched. He glanced at it both times.

I didn't move. I folded my hands in my lap and looked at him. Really looked. His hair was shorter than it used to be. Expensive haircut. He wore a tailored shirt I didn't recognize. His watch was new too. A TAG Heuer. I didn't ask when he bought it.

"What's in the envelope?" he asked.

"Divorce papers. I signed them this morning."

His hand stopped halfway to the beer bottle. He looked at me. Then at the envelope. Then back at me.

"Nora—"

"And the box has your old sketches. The ones from Columbia. I thought you'd want them."

He didn't touch the box. His jaw tightened. "Can this wait until after the pitch next week? I've got the developers coming in and—"

"No."

His phone buzzed. He looked at it. I watched his eyes move across the screen. He typed something fast. One thumb. Then he set it down and looked at me again.

"Nora, I don't have time for this right now."

"I know."

"The Tribeca project is the biggest thing we've—"

"I know."

He leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his face with both hands. When he dropped them, he looked tired. Or annoyed. I couldn't tell anymore.

"Look, if this is about Kataleya—"

"It's not."

He stopped. Blinked. "Then what is it?"

I didn't answer right away. I looked at the candles. The flames were still perfectly straight. No movement at all.

"I found the Tiffany receipt three weeks ago," I said. "In your jacket pocket. The gray one."

His face didn't change.

"I pulled the bank statements after that. You bought a condo. Upper West Side. You put it under her name."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. His phone buzzed again. He ignored it this time.

"You told me it was over two years ago," I said. "You cried. You said you'd never see her again. I believed you."

"Nora—"

"I'm not angry."

That stopped him. He stared at me.

"I'm not," I said again. "I'm just done."

The apartment was so quiet I could hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen. Curtis picked up his beer and took a long drink. He set it down carefully. Centered it on the coaster.

"Can we talk about this next week?" he asked.

I felt something click shut inside my chest. A lock turning. Final.

"No," I said.

I stood up. I walked to the bedroom and closed the door. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at my hands. They weren't shaking. I thought they would be.

I heard Curtis in the living room. The scrape of his chair. His footsteps. The front door opened and closed.

I sat there for a long time. The candles in the other room burned down to nothing. I didn't go back to blow them out.