My phone buzzed. It was Elliott. It was a one-sided conversation. “Love, come home. The apartment isn’t the same without you. It doesn’t sparkle with your spirit. The bed and I are very lonely without you. I promise I will make it up to you!”

“Elliott, this is not going to be fixed with … that.” I hated that my friends had to hear the intimacies of our life.

“Darling, I will be better. I promise. It’s been a few rocky years. I’ll admit it.”

I refused his pleadings and hung up. For a brief moment, I envied my friends. Their normal lives. The moment passed, and we turned our attention to unpacking my messy life.

“This is something I’ve always wanted to know,” Reggie began. “Elliott hired you to design the restaurant, right? Was it a flat fee, or is he paying you now? Like a salary?”

I hated to answer this one. “It was a fee—”

Before I could finish, Elle interrupted. “Wait a minute. Are you telling us you’ve been running the restaurant for free? And Elliott has a problem giving you piddly money for your hair?”

“We’ve already had this discussion, Bailey. Months ago. But you’ve got bigger problems. You aren’t even the hired help. Elliott is treating you like a slave. That’s why you’ve lost so much weight. You’re stressed out and overworked. And you’re letting him do it!”

Both women listened. Lectured. Embraced me. Took turns dispensing tissues and pouring wine. I had been more comfortable with the boys telling me their version of the facts of life than I was with these women telling me the rules of marriage. How could I let this happen? I had so much confidence when it came to my work, but I’d given Elliott control over my life.

“That’s why I got so mad at Elliott sabotaging my career with Mac. This is my profession, my livelihood. But it’s also my life, and I’m good at it. Aren’t I?”

“That man isn’t sabotaging your career, Bailey. He’s sabotaging you. You are not the confident woman we first met.” This was not just a little tapas-serving of the truth but a whole fucking nine-course meal of it. We exchanged looks—a mix of anger, sadness, loss, and rage. Time had fallen away. It was well after midnight.

“Girls, I’ve got to go to work early in the morning,” Reggie said, getting up to go home.

“I’m so glad Griffin and Henry don’t know,” I said. The women exchanged another look. My friends and apparently my traitors. “You didn’t.”

“You just haven’t been listening to us. That stove thing pushed me over the edge,” Reggie said.