can’t believe you’re doing this.” Annie hadn’t meant to say anything, but the words formed themselves. When he didn’t answer, she turned toward him. Sadly, after almost twenty years of marriage, she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. “Why?”

That’s what she really wanted to understand. She’d always put her family’s needs above her own, always done everything she could to make her loved ones feel safe and happy. It had started long before she met Blake, in her childhood. Her mother had died when Annie was very young, and she’d learned how to seal her own grief in airtight compartments stored far from her heart. Unable to comprehend her loss, she’d focused on her grieving father. It had become, over the years, her defining characteristic. Annie the caretaker, the giver of love. But now her husband didn’t want her love anymore, didn’t want to be a part of the family she’d created and cared for.

“Let’s not rehash it again,” he said with a heavy sigh.

The words were like a slap. She snapped her head up and looked at him. “Rehash it? Are you joking?”

He looked sad and tired. “When did you ever know me to joke?” He shoved a hand through his perfectly cut hair. “I didn’t think about what you’d... infer from my phone call this morning. I’m sorry.”

Infer. A cold, legal word that seemed to separate them even more.

He moved toward her, but was careful not to get too close. “I’ll take care of you. That’s what I came to say. You don’t have to worry about money or anything else. I’ll take good care of you and Natalie. I promise.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “February nineteenth. You remember that date, Blake?”

His million-dollar tan faded to a waxen gray. “Now, Annalise—”

“Don’t you ‘now, Annalise’ me. February nineteenth. Our wedding day. You remember that day, Blake? You said—you vowed—to love me till death parted us. You promised to take care of me on that day, too.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“You think a promise like that has an expiration date, like a carton of milk? God...”

“I’ve changed, Annie. Hell, we’ve been together more than twenty years; we’ve both changed. I think you’ll be happier without me. I really do. You can focus on all those hobbies you never had time for. You know...” He looked acutely out of his depth. “Like that calligraphy stuff. And writing those little stories. And painting.”

She wanted to tell him to get the hell out, but the words tangled with memories in her head, and it all hurt so badly.

He came up beside her, his footsteps clipped and harsh on the stone flooring. “I’ve drafted a tentative settlement. It’s more than generous.”

“I won’t make it that easy for you.”

“What?”

She could tell by his voice that she’d surprised him, and it was no wonder. Their years together had taught him to expect no protest from Annie about anything. She looked up at him. “I said, I won’t make it easy for you, Blake. Not this time.”

“You can’t stop a divorce in California.” He said it softly, in his lawyer’s voice.

“I know the law, Blake. Did you forget that I worked beside you for years, building the law firm with you? Or do you only remember the hours you put in at the office?” She moved toward him, careful not to touch him. “If you were a client, what advice would you give?”

He tugged at his starched collar. “This isn’t relevant.”

“You’d tell yourself to wait, spend some ‘cooling off’ time. You’d recommend a trial separation. I’ve heard you say it.” The words tripped her up in sadness. “Jesus, Blake, won’t you even give us that chance?”

“Annalise—”

She kept tears at bay one trembling breath at a time. Everything hung on the thread of this moment. “Promise me we’ll wait until June—when Natalie gets home. We’ll talk again... see where we are after a few months apart. I gave you twenty years, Blake. You can give me three months.”

She felt the seconds tick by, slicing tiny nicks across her soul. She could hear the even, measured cant of his breathing, the lullaby that had eased her into sleep for more than half her life.

“All right.”

The relief was overwhelming. “What are we going to tell Natalie?”

“Christ, Annie, it’s not like she’s going to have a heart attack. Most of her friends’ parents are divorced. That’s half of our goddamn problem, all you ever think about is Natalie. Tell her the truth.”

Annie felt her first spark of true anger. “Don’t you dare make this about motherhood, Blake. You’re leaving me because you’re a selfish prick.”

“A selfish prick who’s in love with someone else.”

The words cut as deeply as he intended them to. Tears burned behind her eyes, blurred her vision, but she’d be damned if she’d let them fall. She should have known better than to fight with him—she had no practice, and hurtful words were his profession. “So you say.”

“Fine,” he said in a clipped, even voice, and she knew by the tone of it that this conversation was over. “What do you want to tell Natalie and when?”

This was the one answer she had. She might be a complete failure as a wife and lover, but she knew how to take care of her daughter. “Nothing for now. I don’t want to ruin this trip for her. We’ll tell her... whatever we need to... when she gets home.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll send someone over tomorrow to pick up a few of my things. I’ll have the Cadillac returned on Monday.”

Things. That’s what it came down to after all these years. The bits and pieces that were their life—his toothbrush, her hot rollers, his album collection, her jewelry— became just things to be divided up and packed in separate suitcases.

He picked up the envelope from the table and held it out to her. “Open it.”

“Why? So I can see how generous you’ve been with our money?”

“Annie—”

She waved a hand. “I don’t care who owns what.”

He frowned. “Be sensible, Annie.”

She looked at him sharply. “That’s what my dad said to me when I told him I wanted to marry a skinny, dirt-poor, twenty-year-old kid. Be sensible, Annie. There’s no rush. You’re young. But I’m not young anymore, am I, Blake?”

“Annie, please...”

“Please what—please don’t make this hard on you?”

“Look at the papers, Annie.”

She moved closer, stared up at him through her tears. “There’s only one asset I want, Blake.” Her throat closed up and it became hard to speak. “My heart. I want it back in one piece. Have you given me that in your precious papers?”

He rolled his eyes. “I should have expected this from you. Fine. I’ll be living at Suzannah’s house if there’s an emergency.” He pulled out a pen and wrote on a scrap of paper from his wallet. “Here’s the number.”

She wouldn’t take the piece of paper from him. He let go and it fluttered to the floor.

Annie lay perfectly still in her king-size bed, listening to the familiar sound of her own breathing, the steady rhythm of her own heart. She wanted to pick up the phone and call Terri, but she’d already leaned on her best friend too much. They’d talked daily, for hours and hours, as if talking could ease Annie’s heartache, and when their conversations ended, Annie felt more alone than ever.

The last week had passed in a blur, seven endless days since her husband had told her he was in love with someone else. Each lonely night and empty day seemed to hack another bit of her away. Soon, she’d be too small for anyone to notice at all.

Sometimes, when she awoke, she was screaming, and the nightmare was always the same. She was in a dark room, staring into a gilt-edged mirror—only there was no reflection in the glass.

Throwing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and went to her walk-in closet. She yanked open her lingerie drawer and pulled out a big gray box. Clasping the box to her chest, she moved woodenly back to the bed. A lifetime’s collection of photographs and mementos lay at her fingertips, all the favorite pictures she’d snapped and saved over the years. She went through them slowly, savoring each one. At the bottom of the box, she found a small bronze compass, a long-ago gift from her father. There was no inscription on it, but she still remembered the day he’d given it to her, and the words he’d said: I know you feel lost now, but it won’t last forever, and this will make sure that you can always find your way home again... where I’ll always be waiting.

She clutched the bit of metal in one hand, wondering when and why she’d ever taken it off. Very slowly, she slipped it around her neck again, then she turned to the photographs, beginning with the black-and-white ones, the Kodak trail of her own childhood. Small, dog-eared photos with the date stamped in black across the top. There were dozens of her alone, a few of her with her daddy. And one of her with her mother.

One.

She could remember the day it was taken; she and her mom had been making Christmas cookies. There was flour everywhere, on the counter, on Annie’s face, on the floor. Her dad had come in from work and laughed at them. Good God, Sarah, you’re making enough for an army. There’s just the three of us....

Only a few months later, there were only two of them. A quiet, grieving man and his even quieter little girl.

Annie traced the smooth surface of the print with her fingertip. She’d missed her mother so often over the years—at high school graduation, on her wedding day, on the day Natalie was born—but never as much as she missed her now. I need you, Mom, she thought for the millionth time. I need you to tell me that everything will be all right....

She replaced the treasured photograph in the box and picked up a colored one that showed Annie holding a tiny, blotchy-faced newborn wrapped in a pink blanket. And there was Blake, looking young and handsome and proud, his big hand curled protectively around his baby girl. She went through dozens more pictures, following Natalie’s life from infant to high school senior, from graham crackers to mascara.

Natalie’s whole life lay in this box. There were countless pictures of a smiling, blue-eyed blond girl, standing alongside a succession of stuffed animals and bicycles and family pets. Somewhere along the way, Blake had stopped appearing in the family photos. How was it that Annie had never noticed that before?

But Blake wasn’t who she was really looking for.

She was looking for Annie. The truth sank through her, twisting and hurting, but she couldn’t give up. Somewhere in this box that held the tangible memories of her life, she had to find herself. She went through print after print, tossing aside one after another.

There were almost no pictures of her. Like most mothers, she was always behind the camera, and when she thought she looked tired, or fat, or thin, or ugly... she ripped the photo in half and ditched it.

Now, it was as if she’d never been there at all. As if she’d never really existed.

The thought scared her so badly, she lurched out of bed, shoving the photographs aside with a sweep of her hand. As she passed the French doors, she caught sight of a disheveled, desperate-looking middle-aged woman in her husband’s bathrobe. It was pathetic what she was becoming. Even more pathetic than what she’d been before.

How dare he do this to her? Take twenty years of her life and then discard her like a sweater that no longer fit.

She strode to the closet, ripping his clothes from their expensive hangers and shoving them in the garbage. Then she went to his study, his precious study. Wrenching the desk drawer open, she yanked everything out.

In the back of one drawer, she found dozens of recent charge slips for flowers and hotel rooms and lingerie.

Her anger turned into an honest-to-God fury. She threw it all—charge slips, bills, appointment reminders, the checkbook register—in a huge cardboard box. On it, in big bold letters, she wrote his name and office address. In smaller letters, she wrote: I did this for twenty years. Now it’s your turn.

Breathing hard, feeling better than she had in days, she looked around at her perfect, empty house.

What would she do now? Where would she go? She touched the compass at her throat and she knew.

Perhaps she’d known all along.

She’d go back to the girl she’d seen in those rare black-and-white photos... back to where she was someone besides Blake’s wife and Natalie’s mother.