“What are you doing?” he asked.
I smiled.
“Giving a toast.”
Then I turned my gaze around the table.
Both families.
My sister, now holding Sophie.
His mother.
My father.
Every person there was watching me.
“Six days ago, I called Elon to ask if he would be home for dinner.”
Nobody moved.
“He told me to stop checking up on him. Then he put his phone down without ending the call.”
Elon became completely still.
“And for the next minute, I heard my husband having a conversation with another woman.”
Someone inhaled sharply.
I continued.
“I heard him complain about me.”
“Grace—”
“I heard him say he couldn’t stand being around me.”
“Stop.”
“I heard him promise her that he would divorce me.”
His mother stared directly at him.
“And I heard him promise he would marry her.”
Elon rose from his chair.
“This is ridiculous. She’s exhausted. She’s had the baby. She’s not thinking clearly—”
There it was.
Exactly what I had known he would do.
I almost smiled.
“I’m thinking more clearly than I have in years.”
Then I reached inside my cardigan and pulled out my phone.
“I knew you might say I imagined it.”
His expression changed.
“I didn’t record that call. I wasn’t prepared for it.”
I set my phone down on the table.
“But you gave me six days afterward.”
That was when genuine panic appeared in his eyes.
Six days of messages.
