The rain in Boston always tasted like iron.

I stood by the tall window of our Back Bay townhouse, watching the gray drops smear against the glass.

Adrian sat at the mahogany dining table behind me.

The smell of his expensive cologne mixed with the scent of damp wool from his coat.

A stack of legal papers rested between his hands.

His gold wedding band caught the dim light of the brass chandelier.

“Serena is back, Claire,” he said.

His voice was flat, empty of the warmth he used to reserve for me.

“I know,” I replied, not turning around.

“We’ve been married eight years, but we both know the spark has been gone,” he said.

I turned to look at him.

He looked handsome, ambitious, and incredibly small.

“She needs me, Claire. I want a divorce.”

He slid a heavy gold pen across the polished wood.

I walked to the table, my heels clicking against the dark oak floorboards.

I did not cry.

I did not scream.

I picked up the pen.

“Is this what you want, Adrian?” I asked.

“I’m prepared to offer you a generous settlement,” he said, shifting in his leather chair.

He did not look me in the eye.

“But Bennett Urban Systems stays with me,” he added quickly. “The firm is my life.”

I signed my name on the bottom line of the final page.

The black ink dried instantly on the crisp paper.

“Keep your settlement,” I said, laying the pen down. “I only want what is legally mine.”

Adrian blinked, clearly surprised by how quickly I had surrendered.

He had expected a long, draining court battle over the company’s assets.

“You’re not going to fight?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “I have a train to catch.”

I walked upstairs to the guest bedroom.

My two suitcases were already packed and waiting by the door.

My phone buzzed in my coat pocket as I pulled on my wool coat.

The screen showed an email from Margaret Hale, the director of the National Urban Renewal Foundation.

The subject line read: *Offer Letter: Director of Engineering, Chicago Waterfront Project.*