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the night.”
                  His mouth twitched, a muscle in his jaw flexing as he clenched his teeth. “So that’s it, then? You’re kicking me out?” He had the audacity to sound angry.
                  “No, I’m divorcing you.”
                  His frown became more severe. “See? This is exactly your problem, Jessica. You can’t just tell me - ”
                  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She sat up straighter in her chair, feeling as solid and unforgiving as stone. “How rude of me. Why don’t we get in bed and you can tell me how different it feels to be inside of her compared to me.”
                  He glanced down at the toes of his spit-shined shoes, raked a hand through his hair. “I’m too tired for this shit. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
                  “Talk?” Jess bit out. “What on earth could I possibly have to talk to you about, you adulterous whore?”
                  His head snapped up, face an angry jumble of planes and angles. “You’re being a bitch.”
                  She met his glare, unshrinking, chin lifted in challenge. “I have the right to be one.” People had called her a bitch her whole life. She’d been told that she was cold and blunt and unfeeling. She didn’t believe in sugar coating. She didn’t believe in sacrificing her principles in the name of a love that didn’t exist. “Now get your shit,” her voice didn’t even shake, “and get out of my house.”

 
     
     
     
    2
     
                  “ W hy do you need a lawyer?”
                  As the second oldest sibling, Jess had only one older brother, and she rarely turned to him for advice. Really, no one turned to Walt for advice anymore, thanks to the ridiculous feud that still hung between him and Jo, and as a result, he was no longer any good at handling pleas for help.
                  “For legal reasons,” Jess deadpanned as she braked her Tahoe to a halt at a red light. In the passenger seat, Tyler was tugging at the collar of his polo shirt, trying to get the buttons undone. She waved for him to stop and he shot her a sulky look that every six-year-old in the world had down to a science.
                  Walt made an impatient sound on the other end of the cell phone she had pressed to her ear. “Did you finally run someone over in a parking lot? You drive like a maniac.”
                  “Can you give me his number or not?”
                  “Jess –”
                  “Walter.”
                  “Yeah,” he sighed. “I’ll text it to you.”
                  “Good. I’ll see you at the house.” And she disconnected the call before he could say anything else.
                  She hadn’t slept the night before, hadn’t even attempted to, really. She’d sat curled up in her leather armchair, legs asleep and full of needles, staring in blank, numb shock at her neatly made, empty bed. She hadn’t felt…anything. The numbness had persisted. At eight, she’d showered, covered the dark rings under her eyes with makeup and prepared breakfast for Tyler and herself. She’d kept him out of school so they could be at the graduation lunch at one o’clock, but she’d worked on his handwriting at the kitchen table after syrup residue from pancakes had been sponged up. Dylan had called eighteen times. She’d finally put her phone on silent. Barefoot, in her favorite yoga pants, late spring sunlight warm and golden across the harvest table in the breakfast nook, she’d practiced Ps and Ls and Js with her son, ruffling a hand through his dark, downy-soft hair every so often, pretending everything wasn’t about to change forever.
                  “Will Chase and Logan be here?” Tyler asked as they reached the front entrance to Randy and Beth’s