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get back to the kitchen. Oh, and this is on me, so don’t even try to get around it. My staff have strict instructions.”
    Emma made a helpless gesture. She knew better than to argue.
    Connie dropped a quick kiss on top of Emma’s head and hurried back to the kitchen.
    Emma finished her meal and reluctantly left the restaurant. She had nothing but an empty house filled with the empty boxes she’d purchased that day. They were waiting for her things, but Emma still didn’t know what she wanted to take with her. She’d called Alan to find out the schedule for the house being put on the market. The pregnant girlfriend didn’t come up in their conversation.
    “Take whatever you want from the house and leave the rest,” Alan had said in his clipped tones. “I’ll go through it when you’re done and then a cleaning company will come in. They have instructions to give whatever’s left to the thrift store and make everything shine. The Realtor has a company that will fill it with furniture, stage it, and then she’ll begin showing it.”
    And that was that. Emma had nothing left to say. She’d agreed and hung up. Jen and Connie’s words came back to her. But what would be the point of standing up to Alan when there was nothing to salvage?  
    She would move on and perhaps if she had another relationship one day, she’d try to do better.

Chapter 8

    Emma stood in front of the dozen or so boxes, her stomach uncomfortably full, her head a little light from the wine, and tried to bring her thoughts into some sort of order.
    Pictures of the now fractured family sat in pewter frames on the mantel over the fireplace.
    Do I take them to be reminded of what I’ve lost?
    They had bought the sofa in their fifth year of marriage. She’d been excited to own such a special piece of furniture and made plans for when they could purchase the rest of the set. Now the sofa would most likely be sent to a thrift store. It felt as if she had been told to pack up all her bright dreams for the future, along with her memories, and give them away like discarded furniture.  
    A tear slid down Emma’s cheek and dropped onto the beige carpet.
    I don’t think I can do this.
    Emma decided she would start in Alan’s office. There at least she’d be happy to throw everything away. She was surprised he hadn’t gotten to it first. Maybe he’d moved things out on the sly before informing her of his intentions. That would be like him.
    She flung the door open and his smell assailed her, knocking her back a step. He’d always worn Polo cologne. He had worn nothing else after he found out it was the choice of many Ivy leaguers. She’d always loved his smell. Tears prickled her eyes again, but she swiped them away with force. This had to be done, and dissolving into tears only delayed the inevitable.
    Emma started with the nearest bookshelf. Alan never read, so it was the biggest sham in the house. He’d filled it with all the popular books on the New York Times Bestseller List. He also bought every book on Oprah’s book club list. He’d never cracked open a single one. Emma didn’t know how he got away with it as many people came into his office and commented on all the books. He must have read the synopsis and reviews to get enough information to discuss them.
    Alan hadn’t gotten successful by being stupid. But she felt annoyed all the same. Mostly with herself. How had she not seen that if he could be so willingly deceitful about the books that it had to be an integral part of his personality? She mentally slapped herself on the back of the head.
    Stupid, stupid Emma.
    She went to the sitting room and picked up a few of the flattened boxes and a roll of tape. She put them together and arranged them in front of the bookshelf. Emma tried not to look at the titles as she pulled the books off the shelf. She’d often wanted to read one of the new books, but Alan wouldn’t let her. He wanted them in pristine condition, missing the obvious