“You can’t just divorce me,” he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. He took a step toward the bed, looming over me. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying? We’re the golden couple. The merger depends on us. My grandfather…” He raked a hand through his hair. “Grandpa would have a stroke. He wouldn’t accept it.”
“I don’t care about your grandfather,” I said, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands. “And I don’t care about the merger. I care that my son is dead, and it was all because of you!”
He took a deep breath, visibly composing himself. He smoothed his tie, adjusted his cuffs, and put the mask back on. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch, once the only thing that could ground me, now made my skin crawl.
“Baby, look at me,” he cooed. “You’re just emotional. It’s the hormones. The grief. You’re not thinking clearly. You don’t want a divorce. Think about us. Think about everything we’ve built.”
“What have we built, Nathan?” I asked softly. “A cemetery?”