He'd come back in a few days as if nothing had happened, asking whether I'd calmed down yet.

Every problem between us, he traced back to my moods.

It never once occurred to him that he might be the one at fault.

Bonnie was always innocent.

The only one being difficult was me.

I curled up on the floor, buried my face against my knees, and swallowed down the burning in my throat again and again.

I didn't sleep all night, and by morning I was running a fever.

When I woke, I'd already been carried to the bed.

Reuben stood in front of me, breakfast set out on the nightstand.

Seeing my eyes open, he reached out and felt my forehead.

"Still feeling bad?"

I shook my head. I wanted to tell him to get out.

But my throat hurt too much to speak.

He picked up the bowl of porridge, stirred it, blew on a spoonful, and held it out to me.

I turned my head away and refused to open my mouth.

Reuben sighed and set the spoon back in the bowl.

"Marie, can't you act like an adult and stop making trouble for me?"

Trouble.

Anything to do with me was trouble.

My throat was tight and burning. I didn't want to say anything at all.

Reuben stood there a moment, then set a small box down in front of me.

"I did go back on my word about Iceland. This is for you. Stop making a scene."

Then he turned to get his coat.

"I'm heading to the school. Bonnie has a paper due today, I need to go help her with it."

At the door, he paused.

"Get some rest. Don't dwell on things that aren't real. Once your fever breaks and you're feeling stable again, we'll talk about Iceland."

The door closed.

His quick footsteps faded down the end of the hall.

I opened the box. No surprise. A silver four-leaf-clover necklace.

The exact same necklace. He'd given me seven of them.

The first time, I was so happy I couldn't bear to take it off, even to sleep.

Later I saw the same one on a coworker's desk. She said it was a gift from some restaurant.

That same day, a post showed up on Bonnie's feed: her and Reuben eating at that very restaurant.

Reuben explained that a thesis from a student they co-advised had won an award, and they'd gone to celebrate.

I pushed down that vague ache I couldn't name and told myself that at least he'd thought of me.

Then came the second, the third, the fourth.

Counting today's, that made eight.

Yesterday, after Reuben slammed the door and left, Bonnie posted to her feed.

And Reuben was in every post.

I lay curled in the empty house, crying until my whole body shook.

The two of them, singing, shopping, enjoying every minute of it.

I swiped through them one by one and stopped on the candlelit dinner.

Candlelight on Reuben's profile, a different man entirely from the one who'd slammed the door.

After I'd asked for a divorce, after the screaming fight.

He acted as if none of it had happened.

Cutting Bonnie's steak as if nothing was wrong, holding up his phone to take her picture.

Smiling in every shot. Nothing like the man at home.

Talking about Neruda's poems with her in the bookstore on the second floor.

Picking out lipstick shades for her on the third.

Belting out songs together in the karaoke room on the fourth.

Worn out from it all, a candlelit dinner on the fifth.

And on the way home, grabbing a freebie for me.

It was absurd.

For the first time, I felt cheap.

I threw off the blanket, ran barefoot to the drawer, and yanked it open.

I dumped all eight necklaces into the trash.

In the bottom drawer of the nightstand lay a set of divorce papers.

For years I'd picked them up and set them down again and again.

This time I turned without hesitation to the last page and signed my name.

After that, I started packing.

It was already night by the time Reuben got home.

He walked in and dropped onto the couch without so much as glancing back at me.

Not until I rolled my suitcase past him.

Only then did he frown and ask, irritated,

"It's this late. Where do you think you're going?"

I slapped the divorce papers down on the table and told him to sign.

He flipped through a few pages without much interest, then looked up.

"Could you at least make it more convincing? If you really wanted a divorce, would you ever give up this place?"

I froze.

I had poured so much of myself into this home.

The location, the floor, all of it chosen with care.

When we renovated, I went to every building-supply store in the city.

The color of the couch, the style of the curtains, I compared more than thirty places before deciding.

Even the spice rack in the kitchen, I picked each one out by hand, dragging Reuben along.

The day we moved in, we lay in bed and neither of us could sleep.

I held him from behind, my voice catching, and said,

"We have a home now."

But then Bonnie came by once, and a few throw pillows she liked appeared on the couch.

Then the curtains were swapped for that off-white lace cutout I never liked.

On the bathroom counter, her skincare slowly outnumbered mine.

Now even the slippers had little antlers on them.

I don't know when it happened, but this home was full of her everywhere I looked.

I looked for a long moment, then said quietly,

"It's tainted. I don't want it. Keep it, you and Bonnie."

The second I said Bonnie's name.

His face darkened, and his voice went cold.

"Marie, there's a limit to how much trouble you get to make."

"I've told you a thousand times. Bonnie and I are just friends. There is nothing between us, nothing at all."

"Keep your ugly little theories to yourself. She's done nothing wrong."

The same words, said a thousand times.

He was innocent.

Bonnie was innocent.

The only filthy mind here was mine.

I had no patience left for any of it.

"Sign."

We stood there facing each other for a long time.

He signed with a cold face, threw the pen down on the table, and looked up at me.

"Fine. It's signed."

"Let's see how long you last. Don't come crawling back to me."

My answer was the door slamming hard behind me.

Once I was out of the complex, I flagged down a car and gave the name of a hotel.

On my phone, I started looking into tour groups to Iceland.

I had waited seven years for Reuben. That was enough.

Some roads you have to walk on your own.

That night, I slept more soundly than I had in a long time.

The next morning, I went down for breakfast.

I'd just picked up a plate when someone behind me called out,

"Marie?"

It was Bonnie.

My stomach dropped, and sure enough, when I turned, Reuben was standing in the doorway.

Bonnie glanced at me and said to him,

"Reuben, you brought your wife along to a work conference? No wonder you were murmuring sweet nothings in your sleep last night."

Reuben's expression turned awkward.

"She came on her own."

Bonnie smiled at me, sweet as anything.

"So Marie came to keep tabs on you?"

She didn't wait for me to answer. She turned back to him.

"Then again, can't blame her. A man built like you… honestly, what woman could ever relax?"

She made it sound offhand, but every word was meant to remind me.

That she and Reuben shared an ease, a private joke, that I would never be part of.

I stood there and said nothing.

Reuben swept his eyes over me, a cold smile curling at his mouth.

"Marie, couldn't even hold out a single day before running here to beg? Hm?"

He thought I'd been following him.

I gave a small smile.

"We're already divorced. Do whatever you want, lock yourselves together forever, just stop ruining other people's lives."

The color drained from Bonnie's face.

Reuben frowned.

"Marie, can you stop making a scene? Bonnie and I have a conference here, we came to work. What are you so jealous about?"

"Apologize!"

I didn't want anything more to do with either of them. I turned and walked away.

I had just gotten back to my room when Reuben followed me in. He pulled two tickets to Iceland out of his pocket.

"Go apologize to Bonnie right now, and I'll take you to Iceland immediately."

I looked at those two tickets, and the irony of it hit me.

Seven years I'd waited for this, and he was finally willing to give it to me. Still, it was for Bonnie's sake.

"You're out of your mind."

"Marie!"

He lowered his voice, his face dark.

"I've already swallowed my pride here. What more do you want?"

"I don't want anything from you."

The next day, I boarded the plane to Iceland alone.

It was only after I landed that I learned Reuben had brought Bonnie too.

As if to spite me, he'd deliberately booked the same tour group.

The whole way, he kept his arm around Bonnie's shoulders, laughing with her, but his eyes went past her and stayed fixed on me.

When I gave him nothing back, his face darkened by degrees.

That evening we went to see the Northern Lights.

By the time we reached the viewing point on the ice field, the sky had already begun to glow green.

Then it grew brighter and brighter, the whole sky flowing, so quiet it made you want to cry.

It really was beautiful.

So beautiful that I felt these seven years hadn't been wasted after all.

When we first got together, Reuben had said he wanted to propose to me under the Northern Lights.

One thing after another always got in the way, and we never made it.

I turned around.

Not far off, Bonnie rose onto her toes and kissed Reuben.

I stood in the snow, my breath fogging white and blurring my sight.

Behind me, people were cheering, hugging.

My feet were nailed to the snow. I couldn't move.

Reuben must have sensed something, because he looked over at me.

His expression froze. He shoved Bonnie away and ran toward me.

"Marie! Let me explain—"

Right then, a dull crack came from the ice beneath my feet.

The whole ice field began to shake.

The guide was screaming for everyone to get back.

I wanted to run, but my boots were stuck in the ice and wouldn't come loose.

Reuben was the closest to me. On instinct, he reached out his hand.

"Reuben!"

Bonnie's voice came from the other side.

"Save me— it's cracking open over here!"

Reuben's hand froze in midair.

He looked at me, then at Bonnie.

"Marie, wait for me a second."

His voice was shaking.

"Bonnie's side is more dangerous. Let me pull her up first, I'll come right back for you."

He turned and ran toward Bonnie.

I stood where I was and watched him run farther and farther away.

The crack beneath my feet split wide open.

I didn't even have time to scream before the icy water surged in from every direction.