Chapter 4

"Ms. Reed, are you certain you want to begin divorce proceedings now?" My attorney Emily sounded slightly surprised on the other end of the line. "I'm certain." "You're currently pregnant, so I suggest making sure you have somewhere safe to stay first. Tomorrow morning, we can formally discuss the division of assets and custody." "I'll move out tonight." After ending the call, I took one last look at the celebration hall. Blake stood beside a champagne tower with Noah in his arms and Vivian at his side, accepting congratulations from their friends. I drove alone to our mansion in the Boston suburbs. When I opened the door, the flowers I had arranged that morning were still sitting in the foyer. Two champagne glasses waited on the dining table. I had planned to celebrate Blake's victory with him when he came home. Now, there was no point. I went straight to the bedroom and pulled out a suitcase. Several changes of clothes, my passport, identification documents, and my prenatal records. As I reached into the back of the closet, I found one of Blake's old jerseys. He had given it to me when he first made it into the NHL. Back then, he had held me in his arms and said, "Natalie, when I win the Stanley Cup, you'll be the first person I hand it to." I stood there holding the jersey for several seconds. Then I put it back. I no longer needed his promises. I turned on the computer in the study. For the past ten years, I had handled almost all of Blake's endorsement deals, media interviews, and crisis management. I hadn't stopped working even after I became pregnant. Only three days ago, I had stayed up until two in the morning revising his post-championship interview notes. I had even added a special reminder: [If the team wins, remember to thank your family.] The irony almost made me laugh. He had thanked his family. I simply wasn't part of it. I opened my work email and sent a formal notice to Grant and Blake's management team. [Effective immediately, I will no longer provide private PR consulting services to Blake Harrison. All existing project materials will be transferred as required under the relevant contractual and confidentiality obligations. Please direct all future media matters to his management team.] Once the email was sent, I closed the folder containing Blake's work. I would never clean up another one of his messes. Then I called Jordan. The moment she answered, she asked, "Natalie, where are you? I saw the broadcast." "I'm at home." "How could that bastard do this to you?" I held the phone in silence for several seconds. "Jordan, I'm getting a divorce." The other end of the line went quiet. Then she said firmly, "Come stay with me. You can stay as long as you need." "Thank you." "Don't thank me. You and the baby are what matter right now." After ending the call, I continued packing. At eleven that night, Emily emailed me the prepared divorce petition and reminded me that additional legal procedures would be required before it could be formally filed and served. I printed the documents and signed wherever my signature was required. Natalie Reed. Documents in hand, I walked into the living room. The display cases were filled with Blake's medals, commemorative jerseys, and photographs documenting the highlights of his career. In the most prominent spot was an empty space he had reserved for the championship trophy he expected to bring home tonight. I placed the divorce papers there. Then I slowly removed the wedding ring from my finger. I set it on top of the documents. At that moment, my phone lit up. It was Blake. [I'm celebrating with Noah tonight. I'll be home tomorrow. Stop sulking, and remember to have tomorrow's PR strategy ready.] I stared at the message until the screen went dark on its own. He hadn't even asked whether I had made it home safely. He hadn't asked about our baby. I simply turned off my phone and extended the handle of my suitcase. At the door, I looked back one last time. That house held seven years of my marriage. It also held countless nights when I had sacrificed sleep and postponed my own work for the sake of his career. I had once believed it would always be a home for the three of us. But now I finally understood that a man who refused to acknowledge you as his family could never give you a real home. I opened the front door and walked into the night. The door clicked softly shut behind me. Blake had no idea that when he came home with the Stanley Cup tomorrow, his wife's embrace would no longer be waiting for him. All he would find was an abandoned wedding ring and divorce papers bearing my signature.