Marcia pressed him, “So when are you going to divorce her?”
Divorce.
Lately, that word was all Frank ever heard.
It seemed like everyone around him believed splitting up was the only logical step left.
But only Frank knew the truth: every time the word surfaced, something heavy settled in his chest, making it hard to breathe.
He wasn’t even sure why. Maybe it was because the company’s shares would take a hit if he got divorced now. Maybe it was the fallout, the way it would drag Marcia’s name through the mud.
Whatever the reason, he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that divorce wasn’t an option.
He blurted out his answer, firm and final. “Never. Not now, not ever.”
The next morning.
Elissa woke in a daze, squinting at her phone to check the time, and finally noticed Frank’s reply.
What is it? I’ll talk to you when I get home tomorrow.
She understood, more or less, what he meant–he didn’t want her storming up to Marcia
and making a scene.
He was probably just worried she’d smash another bottle over Marcia’s head.
Still, that answer was enough for her.
Once Frank came back and they cleared the air, she could finally walk away from this house that had long since stopped feeling like home.
She washed up, dressed with a sense of quiet satisfaction, and was about to leave the dressing room when she paused, glancing back with a thoughtful frown.
As Mrs. Frank, she’d never been spoiled with grand gestures, but Frank always brought her along whenever he needed someone on his arm at company events or society galas.
As a result, designer clothes, jewelry, and handbags filled more than half the walk–in closet.
The Atwater family never had to worry about money, but once the divorce was final, all
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