The rain had started again, a light drizzle that smeared the streetlights across my windshield.

I knew where Ethan would go.

He would not go to a hotel.

He would go to the townhouse in the city.

The one he thought I did not know about.

The one he had rented for Lila.

I drove through the wet streets, my hands tight on the steering wheel.

The wipers made a rhythmic, clicking sound.

I pulled up to the curb half a block from the brownstone.

The lights on the second floor were on.

I turned off the ignition.

The silence in the car was absolute.

I reached into my briefcase and pulled out the thick manila envelope.

The legal documents inside were crisp and white.

They represented the total dissolution of my marriage.

And the total preservation of my freedom.

I got out of the car.

The rain was cold against my face.

I walked up the stone steps of the brownstone.

I did not ring the bell.

I used the key I had made from Ethan’s keyring three weeks ago.