The Son Who Broke Her

thirteenth wed

it ready for the dry cleaners. A charge for two at The O

e remembered. After all the cold

mother taught me how to make, and put on the blue dress he once said he love

t he wasn't inside. He was across the street, openin

sn't

tinkling sound that the wind carried over to me, and looped her arm through his. He smiled down at h

avy on my lap. The b

y phone and dialed his number. I

el

e. It was our son, Al

our dad? I need

d sounds, a TV probably. "He

ntown. I saw him go into

the other end w

s a huge client. Dad has to entertain them. You don't get it be

that's

st going to make things difficult and embarrass him. Dad said

he hu

ried to call back. The call didn't

number. My own s

windows, and the wind howled. I was sitting in the dar

er from his coat. Alex was right

He didn't ask where I'd been or why I was sitting

I said, my voice

ff his jacket. "He told me you were

nt, Mark. She's y

y looking at me. His eyes were like ice. "You've upset

d, a miniature version of Mark's disapproval. "Y

balcony. It was completely exposed, twenty stories up, with nothing

and rain blasted into the

think about what you've done. Thi

ve what I was hearing. "What? Ma

d. You need to cool off. When you're ready to apolog

he cold wind soaking my dress, my heart turning to a block of ice. I stayed there for hours, sh

myself out of bed, printed out the divorce papers I had saved on my comput

reading the financial news on his tablet. He didn'

He just kept si

minutes. Ten. An hour passed. He finished his coffee, rinsed

short, humo

ry amusement. "You get caught in a little cold wind and you think the

. I didn't hav

ign it,

y of Alex, of course. He needs a stable environment, not... this.

t, "Alex! Come do

op of the stairs, look

er and I are getting a divorce. You'll be stayi

indifference. There was no flicker of sadness, no hint of a t

voice clear and hard. "I'm

ace where my heart used to be. I had endured the affairs, the

ver me. The fever, the aches,

I said

had built. The photos on the wall, the clothes in the clo

toothbrush, my grandmother's old photo. That w

od on the manicured lawn with a golf club in his hand. He w

t me, but as I p

e world tilted, spots dancing in my vision. I stumbled a

eadable. Mark was watching from the doorway, his arms cro

neck. The world was spinning

the street, and toward the distant sound of traffic, leavin