Then I walked into the living room. Daniel’s father sat in my chair beside the fireplace, holding a glass of wine. Two cousins stood near the dining table pretending not to listen.

My niece had placed her phone facedown, though I’d seen the screen light up when Daniel walked into the kitchen. The table was set with my wedding china.

I had polished the silver the night before.

At the front door, I put on my coat and stepped into the cold Thanksgiving afternoon. No one came after me.

Chapter 2 — Service, Not Love

My name is Claire Bennett. I was forty-three that November, and until the moment the door closed behind me, I believed my marriage was happy.

Not perfect. I’d never been naive enough to expect perfection. Daniel and I argued about finances, schedules, his family, and the way he left every cabinet door open as though someone else had been hired to close them.