She held her hands up as if to ward him off. “I had actually convinced myself that you were over it . . . over her. I decided I would never tell you what I did—that it would give you all the reason you needed to hate me. But you can’t let go of her, and whether I tell you or not, she . . . she has a hold on you, or you on her, that I’ll never be able to break. God, I just wanted to believe . . .” She stood now, wiped her face with her hands. “I know this is the moment when I should apologize, offer you my sincerest repentance for what I did wrong. But I can’t. Because I still believe I did what was right for you. She could never, ever have loved you like I have, like I do. She could never have put up with your moods and your habits. She couldn’t have given you the life I have. I prayed so hard that you would be over this by now, that it was the purpose in Jack and Lisbeth dating. But as usual, I was wrong.”

“Dear God, Eliza. Why would you pray when you act like a god—a god who can control others’ lives?” In a trance, as his flimsy life became even more transparent, Nick slowly dressed himself in the clothing he’d laid out for the party.

“I didn’t believe I was God, Nick. I just loved you . . . love you like no one else can, or ever will. Can’t you see that? What I did was for us.”

“No. I see a woman I don’t know—at all. A woman who is capable of . . .” He zipped his pants and went to the bedroom door, his steps careful. He felt as if the very floor might crumble beneath him.

“Where are you going?” Her voice rang with uncontrolled desperation.

He turned and lifted the scraps of paper from the floor. “I don’t know.”

“We have a party to go to. We’re going to be late.”

“What?” She used duty to stay the panic; he’d seen it a thousand times with the kids. They would come to her with a problem, a bad grade, trouble with a coach, and she’d move them to the next task and the next, never truly addressing the problem, but preoccupying them.

“We have a party and we’re going to be late.” She sounded like a broken record.

“You are cracked, Eliza. You want to just wipe your face and go? You have lost it.”

“We have to show up for the kids.”

He shook his head in disbelief, neatly folded the papers, then placed them in his pocket and turned away.

“Don’t go,” she said.

He turned back to her. “Your dress is ripped.”

She looked down at the hemline, picked it up and stared at it. By the time she looked up, he was gone.