Nate had blinked, rubbed his eyes, and read it again, shock vibrating in his system. He walked into the studio, grasped the doorframe, and said in a dead voice, “So you’re looking forward to me leaving town?”

Her jaw dropped, and her cheeks flamed red. But that marked the end of any shame on her part. That night she moved out, and shortly after she married the guy.

Claude held out his hand, brandishing a huge smile. “Nate. Haven’t seen you in ages. You look good,” the man said, and Nate was sure his auditory processing had malfunctioned because the man couldn’t possibly be making casual chitchat with him.

He shrugged off the hand on his back, ignoring the one Claude had extended.

“Where’s Joanna?” he managed to ask as the ice inside him turned to fire. Red flames licked his veins. His fists clenched. It was an affront to the universe that he had to be in the same fifty-foot radius as this asshole. The very same asshole that he’d had dinner with many, many times during his marriage. Let’s have dinner with my professor and some of the others in the department, Joanna would say.

“She had to step out to talk to one of the organizers of her exhibit in Chicago. Isn’t it amazing that she’s going to have all her work shown at the museum?”

Nate grumbled something unintelligible.

“I’m so proud of her. What an honor,” Claude continued, and Nate was ready to deliver his clenched fist into Claude’s gut. The man brought his glass of champagne to his mouth and took a sip. A fucking sip. Drink like a man; knock it back.

“Yeah. Great honor,” Nate muttered and thrust the box at him, suppressing his desire to drop it on Claude’s foot. Or his face. Or down a sidewalk grate, for that matter. “Here.”

Claude’s eyes widened and a thin smile spread on his thin lips as he opened the box. “Ah, at last! It’s come home. She’s going to be so happy to see this back,” he said as he dipped a hand inside the cardboard and stroked the art lovingly. Nate’s stomach roiled. His gut twisted, and he curbed every impulse to slug this scum. His mind tried desperately to grip onto pictures of happier times, of being far on the other side of this deceit. He fought hard to cling to images of the good things in life—his nieces, Kat’s new dog, his work, and Casey. Most of all, Casey. Her heart, her laughter, her strength. But the images felt slippery, and slid through his fingers as Claude spoke once more, “Thank you for all you’ve done for Joanna. You are truly a prince among men.”

Nate bit his tongue, sucking down the invectives he wanted to spew. Instead, he fixated on one simple fact, letting it echo in his brain, and fuel him with bravado. I am better off without her. I am better off without her. I am better off without her.