I cried in my husband’s arms at the airport as he boarded what he claimed was a two-year work assignment in Zurich

Quietly dividing things.

“He told her I was emotionally fragile, didn’t he?”

Grace’s silence was enough.

I smiled without humor.

“He always did like making women feel like someone needed protecting.”

“I’m not defending her,” Grace said. “I’m just telling you what she believed.”

“And now?”

“Now I don’t know what she believes. She won’t speak to me.”

“Why?”

“Because I told her Lucas was lying.”

I closed the laptop without completing the transfer.

The sound seemed louder than it should have been.

Grace noticed.

“You didn’t move the money?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Don’t mistake that for trust.”

“I don’t.”

I stood and walked toward the hallway.

The coat closet door stuck slightly, as it always did in dry weather. I pulled it open, pushed aside winter jackets, and crouched before the safe.

My fingers moved over the keypad.

My birthday.

Lucas had insisted it was too obvious. I had joked that burglars didn’t know my birthday. He had smiled and said, “I do.”

The safe clicked.

Inside, at first, everything seemed normal.

Passports.

House deed.

Insurance files.

A small velvet box containing my mother’s pearl earrings.

Then I noticed the gap.

The blue legal folder was gone.