He stopped.

The word had returned to its owner.

That evening, Grant came to my bedroom.

I had moved there alone with Lily.

The master suite was still technically ours, but marriage had become a crime scene, and I preferred not to sleep beside evidence.

He knocked once, then entered without waiting.

His arrogance had habits.

“You embarrassed my family today,” he said.

I was sitting in the blue armchair I had bought for myself years earlier, Lily sleeping on my chest.

“No,” I said.

“I identified them.”

He closed the door.

“You think you’re clever.”

“I think you’re scared.”

His laugh was sharp.

“Of what?”

“Paperwork.”

He looked toward the bassinet.

The borrowed bassinet was gone.

I had ordered Lily a crib from a small woman-owned shop in Vermont.

It was white oak, handmade, warm, sturdy, and paid for with my money.

It stood by the window beneath a mobile of brass stars.

Grant noticed.

His eyes narrowed.

“You bought that?”

“Yes.”

“With what?”

“My money.”

“You mean our money.”

“No.”

That stopped him.

He turned fully toward me.

“What does that mean?”

“It means there are things you did not know because you never thought I mattered enough to ask.”

His face darkened.

“You’re threatening me now?”

“I am informing you.”

“Vivian Cross is filling your head with fantasies.”

“Vivian Cross is reading the contract your mother gave me.”

A flicker again.

Grant hated surprises, especially legal ones.

He walked to the window.

“You have no idea what this family is dealing with.”

“There it is again.”

“What?”

“The family.”

He turned.

“You enjoy living in this house.”

“I enjoyed believing I lived in a marriage.”

“You enjoyed the name.”

I laughed softly.

“Grant, I had money before you had hair plugs.”

His hand tightened around the window frame.

For the first time in our marriage, I saw genuine shock on his face.

It was almost satisfying enough to be vulgar.

“You never told me,” he said.

“You never asked.”

“What money?”

“The kind your lawyers can discover in due course.”

“You should say my name with less panic.”

He took a breath.

“I made mistakes.”

I looked directly at him.

“You made plans.”

He said nothing.

“Sabrina came here,” I continued.

“She told me you love her.”

His eyes moved away.

“Do you?”

“It’s complicated.”

“It rarely is.”

“You and I have been over for a long time.”

“That is interesting, because I was pregnant for most of it.”

He flinched.

Good.

“You shut me out,” he said.