She’d added to their lives, added to their social sphere, organizing and planning as “Bill’s wife,” fulfilling her job to make him comfortable and enviable and the image of benevolent success. Bill always won.Īll she’d done for the past eight years was addition. The lawyers, human calculators who cared nothing about her, would discuss and divide, and then Bill would win. She jiggled the fragments of disappearing ice. But Bill Macallen always got what he wanted, no explanation offered or obligatory. She’d asked him why he was leaving her, begged to know, yearned to understand. With a lift of his chin and a slam of the front door and a squeal of Mercedes tires. Which would be followed by the devastating subtraction.īill had subtracted her from his life, that was easy math. They’d already created a ledger of their lives together, then started the Macallens’ financial division. Not only the physical division, hers from Bill, but what would happen after the lawyers finished. She stared through her chilled glass to the mirrored shelves of multicolored bottles in front of her at the hotel bar. Alyssa swirled the icy olives in her martini, thinking about division.
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