Thirty Days to Goodbye

Chapter 2 The Peanut Butter Incident

The executive dinner took place in a private room at a Michelin-starred restaurant. Dark wood, low voices, heavy crystal. The room was designed to make wealthy people feel important.

Five years earlier, an invitation like this would have thrilled me. That night, I took the chair assigned to “tech support” and checked the nearest exit.

Marcus Thorne, a potential investor with silver hair and sharp questions, sat beside us. When he asked what I did at Genesis, Alexander put his hand on my shoulder.

“This is Evelyn. She’s an essential part of our tech support team. The best we have.”

Tech support.

I met Marcus's eyes and gave him the same professional smile I used with difficult board members. Alexander had just introduced Genesis's chief architect as the woman who reset passwords.

Marcus glanced at the product display, then back at me. He knew the title did not fit the answer I had given him about model architecture, but he was too polite to challenge his host.

While talking to Marcus, he slid his spare tablet toward me. It held his private notes and market analyses, and he passed it over without breaking eye contact with the investor.

Alexander had done this for years with phones, folders, names, and unfinished thoughts. Anything he did not want to carry became mine to remember.

“Hold this for me, will you?”

I left my hands in my lap. The tablet stopped beside my wineglass.

After a moment, Alexander looked down. His mouth tightened. He picked up the tablet and put it on the empty chair beside him.

Across the table, Chloe told Marcus how she had “found” the solution that made Genesis viable. She knew enough of my presentation to repeat it.

Whenever Marcus asked for detail, she redirected him to the product demo. Alexander filled the gaps before the silence could expose her.

The main course arrived. Chloe cut into her sea bass, took one bite, and set down her fork.

“Alexander, it’s a little overdone.”

He called the head chef over and reprimanded him at the table. The chef apologized twice while Chloe watched with lowered lashes.

Alexander sent the entire plate back and ordered the kitchen to start again. I could not remember him confronting anyone when my anniversary dinner had been canceled for work.

When the chef left, Alexander noticed my untouched plate. He pushed a salad toward me. Crushed peanuts covered the leaves and clung to the dressing.

“Eat something, Evelyn. You look pale.” He had already turned back to Chloe. “After dinner, go to the office. Chloe found a minor UI bug. Fix it tonight.”

I looked at the peanuts.

During our first year of marriage, one accidental bite had sent me to the emergency room. Alexander had watched through the glass while the doctors fitted an oxygen mask over my face.

He had paced the corridor that night and made the restaurant manager list every ingredient twice. For months afterward, he checked labels before I touched a plate.

Now he had put the same allergen in front of me and asked for another favor.

I stood. My chair scraped over the floor.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Home.”

I left before he could turn it into an argument. By the time I reached the penthouse, my phone had filled with his calls and messages. I put it on silent.

The apartment was as neat as a hotel suite. Nothing on the counters suggested that two people lived there, and no wedding photograph stood where a guest might see it.

In the master bathroom, I opened his side of the vanity. His shaving creams, imported colognes, and prescription hair gels went into the trash.

The cleared shelf looked better. I shut the cabinet and started on the closet.