Her mascara was streaking.

“Natalie, please don’t do this because of me.”

I zipped my suitcase.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Grant’s jaw tightened.

“Natalie, maybe space is actually what we need.”

“Probably.”

His expression softened, as if he believed I was finally coming around.

Then he made the mistake of continuing.

“And if you can’t eventually accept that Vanessa and I have real feelings for each other, maybe ending the marriage is better for everybody.”

Vanessa looked away.

But not fast enough.

I saw it.

Relief.

For just a second.

She thought she had won.

I lifted the suitcase.

“Fine.”

Grant blinked.

“What?”

“Let’s end it.”

“Natalie, I wasn’t saying—”

“Yes, you were.”

I walked past both of them.

At the front door, Grant caught up.

“If you walk out tonight, don’t assume you can just come back whenever you want.”

I looked at the apartment.

The marble kitchen island I had chosen.

The artwork I had hung myself.

The couch my father had helped me move in.

Then I looked at Grant.

“I’m not planning to come back.”

The elevator doors opened.

I stepped inside.

My phone buzzed before I reached the lobby.

Vanessa.

I know you hate me right now. But what Grant and I have is real.

I stared at the message.

Then typed:

Then you shouldn’t mind paying for it.

She didn’t understand what I meant.

Neither did Grant.

But in the elevator, I remembered something.

Grant and I shared two bank accounts.

Three credit cards.

And an investment account.

I also remembered that the apartment building’s private security system kept several months of access logs and camera footage.

I still had administrator credentials because Grant had once complained that setting it up was “too annoying.”

By sunrise, I wasn’t going to know only who my husband had been sleeping with.

I was going to know how much our marriage had spent on their romance.

PART 2 — THE PRICE OF LOVE

My friend Maya opened her townhouse door at 11:31 p.m.

She looked at my suitcase.

Then at my face.

“Who am I killing?”

“Nobody.”

“Disappointing. Come in.”

Maya knew Vanessa.

Not well.

But enough.

She listened without interrupting while I told her everything.

When I finished, she poured me coffee instead of wine.