The room did not tilt.
But something deep inside me went very still.
It was the kind of stillness that comes before collapse or before violence. A bridge cable going taut. A winter lake sealing over while black water moves beneath it.
I looked at him for a long moment.
Then I cut into my steak.
He stared at me as if I had slapped him.
“You’re eating?” he said.
“Yes.”
“I just told you I’m having a child.”
“With another woman,” I said. “I heard that part.”
He pushed back from the table slightly. “What is wrong with you?”
That was when I knew he was frightened.
Men like Dominic never minded pain. Pain made them feel powerful. What they feared was unreadability. A locked room. A face they could not enter. A silence that made them wonder what was happening somewhere beyond their control.
I chewed, swallowed, set down my fork, and looked at him calmly.
“What do you want?” I asked.
He seemed relieved to finally be in familiar territory. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and slid a slim envelope across the table.
“An amicable separation,” he said. “You keep the North Shore house for now. I’ll have my attorneys work out a fair arrangement.”
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