ing room table. Sarah smoothed the linen napkin on her lap for the tenth time. It was their fifth wedding anniversary. She had s

n the table. It wa

at work. Can't m

lasses, the perfectly cooked lamb resting on the counter, the small, gift-wrapped box next to his plate. A familiar hollowness spre

the house pressed in on her. It was a silence she had grown used to over the past year. Mark was always at the offi

ad dropped by the door when he' d rushed in and out that morning. It was unlatched. A corner of a thick manila envelope was sticking

he undid the clasp. Inside was a thick stack of papers, held together by a large clip. The top page was a cover letter addressed to Mark. She

nd clean divorce. It was dated three months ago. And at the bottom, in his familiar, confident script, was his signature. Mark had signed it. He had

ive years. Five years of dedicating her life to him, to their home. She had put her own passion for art

ty face with a bright, possessive smile. Emily. Mark' s college sweetheart. His "first love," the one he always talked about with a wist

she completely ignored Sarah. Mark' s face had lit up in a way Sarah hadn' t seen in years. He had spent the rest of the evening talking to Emily, his back turned to his own wife. Sarah had felt

chose me. It' s just an old friend. What a fool she had been. She had lied to herself, papering over the cracks in their marriage, pretending not t

Sarah," before turning his full attention back to Emily. The way Emily had looked Sarah up and down with a dismissive glance, as if she

, he had cut her off. "She's just an old friend, Sarah. Don't make a big deal out of it." His voice was col

ed out. He wanted Emily. And he had laid the groundwork to make it happen as smoothly as possible, with as little f

ck. She wouldn't be a victim. She wouldn't wait for him to hand her these pap

he envelope, tucking it back in just as she had found it. She closed the latch. Then she went upstairs to their bedr