The flight takes an extra forty-five minutes, spent circling O’Hare due to weather conditions. Apparently the rain has followed me from Philadelphia and turned into a full-fledged storm in Chicago. I continue to nod in and out of sleep while the plane circles, having a bunch of strange dreams, like giving birth to a kitten instead of a baby. It’s an orange kitten that reminds me of Tubbs and only makes me sadder.

Finally we land and I grab a cab that costs nearly as much as my airfare to get me to Naperville. Kidding. It’s storming and I’ve landed during rush hour so the ride takes forever. The cab smells funny and I’m moody and I just want to be home. In my own bed, where I can focus on Plan C.

Being alone.

Which is fine, it was always the plan. I’d only intended to notify Kyle and then return home. Which would have been fine, before. Kyle making me fall in love with him is just shitty.

I finally stumble into my apartment and sigh in relief, abandoning my bag two feet from the door. Violet was here last so the place is clean, but a quick peek in the fridge reminds me that we’d both thought we were returning sooner than later. A few very old apples in the fruit bin and a half-gallon of expired milk. I decide I’ll deal with it later and shut the fridge. I’m going to miss Mrs Lascola and the magic arrival of groceries in the refrigerator.

I strip everything off and take a long, hot shower then crawl into bed. I suppose I’ll have to deal with Kyle eventually—we are married. For now, anyway. But that can wait. He can just send me some paperwork or whatever weird rich people do when they break up. He’ll probably want to stall until after the baby is born for appearances’ sake, and besides, he’s very busy planning world domination with his future company shares.

I’m moody and hungry and tired, but tired is going to win this round because I’m already nodding off.

25

Kyle

I drove all night.

By the time I got home and realized she’d fled, all flights to Chicago were canceled due to the weather in Chicago. So the options were a twelve-hour drive or waiting until morning and hoping the weather had cleared. Twelve hours gets me to her before morning, so driving it was.

I’m not accustomed to fucking up.

And I’ve fucked up.

I have twelve hours to think about it because Daisy isn’t answering her phone. I can piece together what happened based on the trail of evidence through my condo. Abandoned peanut butter cups and a copy of MoneyWeek lying on the sofa. Her suitcase gone. That and she finally used the credit card I gave her—to buy a flight to Chicago.

I’m an idiot, but I’m not guilty of anything that she’s thinking right now.

I am guilty of omitting far too much though. Never a good idea, Luke was right about that.

I arrive at her apartment complex just before four AM. A ridiculous hour and I think about sitting in my car while staring at her door until sunrise, at the very least, but I can’t do it. I need to see her. I need to fix this. I need to know she’s okay.

Also, this is so unlike her. She’s not usually dramatic about anything, which tells me I’ve really, really fucked up.

She has a doorbell, and I ring it, sorry to do so in the middle of the night, but she must know I’d come. She must realize I’d never let her walk away from me without a fight.

No, dickhead, I chastise myself. She doesn’t realize that because you’ve never said the words.

It takes three rings and several minutes before I can feel her, positive she’s on the other side of the door staring at me through the peephole. I tap the door with my knuckles. “Daisy, open the—”

The door opens.

She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt, legs bare. Her hair is messy from sleep and her eyes are tired.

“What are you doing here?” She seems surprised to see me.

“Sorry it’s late. I just got in. Flights to Chicago were cancelled so I had to drive or I’d have been here earlier.”

She blinks at me, head tilted to the side. “You drove from Philadelphia?”

“Of course.”

She stares some more.

“Daisy, may I come inside? Please?” I add when she doesn’t seem certain she’s going to allow it. She shrugs and steps back, leaving the door ajar for me to follow.

“Where’s Margo?”

“Margo? What the fuck does Margo have to do with anything?” Unless… unless she saw the texts Margo sent. My iPad. Fuck. “It’s not what you think.”

“What do I think?” she challenges, arms crossed over her chest, her chin tilting up in defiance.

“I imagine you saw a handful of the texts she sent to me and you think I’m a lying, cheating son of a bitch, but you wouldn’t think that if you could see my half of the texts. You can, if you want.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and unlock it, then attempt to hand the phone to her, but she’s taken a step back and is looking at me like I drown kittens for fun.

“A handful? Do you text each other all the time?”

“Daisy, no.” I exhale and run a hand through my hair. This is going badly.

“I saw you get in the car with her yesterday. When you were supposedly in a meeting.” She says it quietly, her eyes wary.

“If you saw that then you arrived a minute too late to see there were already two lawyers and a representative from human resources in the car. We took her to an off-site office to let her go.”

“Let her go?”

“Margo was fired yesterday, or technically speaking, she agreed to take a severance package and resign to avoid a bigger mess.”

She blinks at me, surprised.

“Yesterday’s texts were not the first unwanted and inappropriate texts from her. I’ve brushed her off in the past, because it’s complicated due to our history together and my position at the company. But once you came into the picture I escalated the situation to human resources and we began the process of an exit package for her.”

“You drove all night?” Apparently she’s ignoring what I’ve just said and bouncing back to that.

“Yes. Of course. Whatever it took to get to you.”

“You could’ve just called. If my phone was on.” She’s uncrossed her arms and is wiggling her wedding ring on her finger. I’m relieved to see she’s still wearing it.

“Agreed. But I’d have still come to get you anyway.”

She nods, not really looking at me. She seems distracted, or like she’s not ready to believe me quite yet. “Why did you escalate the situation when I showed up?”

“Because you’re my wife and I wasn’t going to allow her to disrespect you that way.”

“Right.” She gazes at me like I’ve just said something wrong.

“I’m in love with you, Daisy. I fell in love with you on the sidewalk in Boston like a lovesick teenager, and it terrifies me, you must know that.”

“You love me?” Her head is tilted to the side and she’s examining me like this is all so very interesting to her while I’m bleeding my guts out on the floor.

“Of course I love you. I’m crazy about you.”

“Hmm,” she murmurs.

“Daisy, do you love me? Could you… love me?”