My husband booked himself a first-class seat and shoved me into the last row with our triplets — before the plane even leveled off, he was back at my side, ash-gray and shaking, whispering, "How could you do this to me?"

Grant called at four. I let it go to voicemail. He left one — three minutes long, his voice moving through several registers, starting calm and ending somewhere close to desperate. I listened once, forwarded it to Walter, and didn't listen again.

Then he texted: I need to see you. Not to fight. Just to talk. Please.

I typed back: My lawyer will contact yours. Please don't come to the hotel.

He came to the hotel. I heard the knock at five and knew.

I opened the door with the chain on.

"I asked you not to come," I said.

"Nora." Low. Controlled. He'd had time to rehearse. "Ten minutes. That's all. Then I'll go."

"Say it through the door."

A pause. He hadn't expected that.

"Fine. Fine." He exhaled. "I made mistakes. Serious ones. The job — I was ashamed. I couldn't tell you. I kept thinking I'd land something and fix it before you noticed."

"And Bethany?"

"That was wrong. I won't defend it."

"And the document."

Silence.

"Grant. The forged document."

"I didn't think of it as—" He stopped. Started over. "I needed her to believe the situation was legitimate. I wasn't trying to defraud anyone. I was just—"

"You forged my signature on a legal document," I said. "That's fraud. That's the word for it. Fraud."

"Nora—"

"My lawyer has the image. Bethany has given a statement. And you fed a reporter a tip this morning, which tells me you're already trying to manage this in public." My voice stayed even. "I'm not angry, Grant. I want you to hear that. I'm not standing here shaking. I'm just done."

A long silence on the other side of the door.

"The children," he said finally. "Whatever happens between us — they need their father."

"They will have access to their father," I said. "Through the proper legal arrangement. That's not a threat. That's just how it's going to work now."

"You're really doing this."

"I really am."

Another silence. Then, quietly: "I thought you'd fight. Or cry. Or something. I didn't think you'd be like this."

"Like what?"

"Calm," he said. "You're so calm."

"I've had three days," I said. "And I've been doing all of this alone for a long time. Calm is what's left when you've already done the hard part by yourself."

I heard him shift his weight on the other side of the door.

"I'm sorry," he said. And for one second, it sounded true.

"I know," I said. "Goodnight, Grant."

I closed the door and slid the chain back into place.

June was watching me from the floor, plastic giraffe in hand, head tilted slightly to one side.

"It's okay, bug," I said.