Monica woke up the next morning, her mind in a deep fog. Where was Will? Even after ten years of marriage, she blushed at what they’d done last night. If it weren’t for the empty wine bottle on the floor and the imprint of Will’s head on his pillows, she’d have thought it was a wild, fantastical dream. But there it was – and thank goodness, they wouldn’t have to separate. How could they, after he said he loved her?
She put on her robe and tied her hair up in a bun, then went downstairs to get breakfast. Will’s mother would bring the children back and she had to get breakfast ready, walk the dog, take out the trash, bring in the newspaper – her morning ritual, all the little artifacts of life and love that made having Will and this house worth it. Worth it all.
When she reached the landing, her heart jumped into her throat. Will had left a note. Probably had gone to his mother’s to pick up the children. But instead, it read, “I’ve decided it would be best for the two of us if I stayed at the New York Athletic Club for the time being, until the lawyers sort it all out.”
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