Standing on the cobblestone porch was Nathan. The crisp, tailored navy suit was gone, replaced by a rumpled shirt and a cheap jacket. He looked exhausted, his hair unstyled, sweating despite the crisp New England breeze. In one hand he clutched a dusty canvas backpack; over his other shoulder hung a single, unzipped garment bag. The four luxury suitcases were nowhere to be found.
He punched the code again. Error.
He slammed his fist against the mahogany door and rang the doorbell three times in rapid succession.
I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open just enough to block his entry, my posture relaxed.
Nathan stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief, panic, and burning indignation.
“How could you do this to me?” he demanded, his voice cracking. “My cards are blocked! The hotel threw Brianna and me out! HR called me into a disciplinary hearing this morning, and when I tried to log into our accounts, everything was locked! Do you have any idea what kind of humiliation I just went through at Logan Airport?”
I took a slow sip of my coffee, looking him up and down.
“You planned your version for months,” I answered, my voice steady and cold. “I merely responded faster.”
“I’m your husband!” he shouted, stepping forward as if he could physically intimidate his way back into his old life. “You can’t just cut me off! We’re supposed to build one life!”
“We did build one,” I replied, opening the door a fraction wider so he could see the immaculate, peaceful entryway behind me. “And then you tried to demolish it from the inside out while standing in my hallway. Except you forgot one vital rule of architecture, Nathan: always check who owns the land before you build.”
He swallowed hard, his bravado entirely evaporating as the grim reality of his situation set in. He had no money, no hotel, no job, and a frozen corporate status pending a termination review for ethics violations.
“Where am I supposed to go?” he whispered, looking pathetic on the very porch he had strode out of twelve days earlier like a king.
I reached out and clicked the smart lock shut from the inside.
“Ask Brianna,” I said softly. “I hear Paris is lovely this time of year.”
The door clicked firmly into place. I turned around and walked back into my home, leaving him standing on the porch alone.
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