Or maybe she’d just quit her job, pack her suitcase and head for Montana. Dedicate her life to saving others as a smoke jumper. The girls would miss her, but they could visit. If she died, at least it would be for a good cause. Oliver would be fine without her. He’d remarry in a matter of weeks. The thought made her sob.

Maybe she needed a therapist. That would be an hour a week she just didn’t have. Other than Mom, there was no one she could talk to, and Mom had enough on her plate. Sure, people accepted her invitation to the party and made small talk and hugged her, but when was the last time someone asked her how she was and really listened?

She hated entertaining. Hated it. Hated trying to be friends with people who didn’t reciprocate (okay, yes, Saanvi had invited her over once, but Juliet had to go to Dubai for two nights, and other than the very occasional glass of wine in New Haven, which was always Juliet’s initiation, Saanvi never asked again, except for maybe suggesting something vague earlier). Juliet shouldn’t have thrown this party. She should’ve spent the night sitting in the hot tub and watching a movie. Which she never did anymore, but still.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in love, exhale insecurity, as her meditation app told her to do. Another thing she’d let slide.

What was happening? She’d followed all the rules, but here she was, in her closet, and there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

But the partners were here, and Arwen was here, and Kathy, too, somewhere, and she had to put on a strong, confident front and show them that she was one hundred percent together. She was going to have to push for partner at DJK. Until the past six months, that had been almost a given. No other architect there had as many successful projects under their belts. No one had brought in as many clients. Partnership would guarantee her income for life. No one would be able to touch her. Even if Arwen eventually got on the partnership track, that would be fine. That would be fantastic, because two women partners would mean equal representation.

If she didn’t make partner, though . . .

Not a tolerable thought.

She stood up, went into the bathroom, cleaned up her makeup, put on some bright red lipstick, and changed into a flowing black jumpsuit and the fat diamond earrings Oliver had given her for their tenth anniversary.

“You are a successful, confident woman,” she said, ignoring the tremor in her hands. “This is your party. Your beautiful home. Your wonderful husband. Your healthy children. You made this all happen. You belong here.”