Butch didn’t answer, his hollow eyes looking out toward the dark gallery.

“Answer me,” Helen demanded, stepping closer to him. “You’re Zannick’s contract lawyer, right? If the deal between that rapist and Hoshima goes through, then you make a huge commission.” She paused, and when he remained silent, she stuck her index finger in his chest. “Am I right?”

He gave a swift nod of his head and continued to gaze at the gallery. The scene reminded Helen of the many times Butch had come home drunk at night and she had laid into him while he sat at the kitchen table and gazed dull-eyed toward the den. The memory only angered her more.

“You listen to me, you selfish leech. There is no way in hell that I’m going to dismiss the charges against Michael Zannick. He raped a fifteen-year-old girl, and he’s going to serve the maximum.”

“I’m not here because of the deal with Hoshima.” He paused. “Or my commission.” He chuckled bitterly. “I wish that was it.”

Helen cocked her head at him. “What then?”

Finally, he pulled himself to his feet, but he still didn’t look at her, now peering at the floor. His mouth curved into a tired smile. “We should’ve had kids, you know. I think that would have done it.”

“Done what?” she asked.

“Saved our marriage.”

She scoffed. “You think a couple of rug rats would have stopped your boozing?”

He finally looked at her, and his eyes were now blood red. “They might’ve made you take a step back. Maybe paid a little more attention to what was going on at home instead of your all-powerful career.”

She crossed her arms tight around her chest. How many times had she heard this same spiel over the years? In her ex-husband’s mind, Helen should have spent their marriage revolving around his orbit. Being the good wife who had dinner prepared every night when he got home. Listening to him whine about his workday and stroking his ego if he still wasn’t feeling ten feet tall and bulletproof.

Subordinating all her own hopes and dreams to his own.

Helen Lewis wasn’t wired that way, and Butch should’ve known that going in. He hadn’t met her at a church picnic. They had met during her first year and his third of law school in Knoxville. She had never wavered in her desire to one day be a prosecutor. Butch had always thought he could change her. Soften her, as he liked to call it, but it was he who’d ended up changing in the end.

“We tried to have kids,” Helen finally said. “Remember? For three years, we tried. It wasn’t in the cards, and you didn’t want to adopt.”

“You know that’s not the whole story,” he said.