His hand fell from the glass.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Ethan’s gaze moved to my wrist.
The bracelet.
His expression changed again, too quickly for him to hide it.
“You’re wearing that.”
I looked down.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He swallowed. “Brittany said you never took it seriously.”
“Brittany talks about my jewelry often?”
His mouth tightened.
Rain slid down the glass between us, bending his face into pieces.
“Go home, Ethan,” I said.
He let out a humorless laugh. “You’re making a mistake.”
“No,” I said quietly. “I think I finally stopped making one.”
A car pulled up to the curb behind him. The security company van.
Ethan turned, saw the logo, and understood.
“You’re changing the locks?”
“Tonight.”
“This is my wife’s business,” he snapped at the technician stepping from the van.
The technician, a broad woman in a yellow rain jacket, looked past him to me.
“Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes.”
“Do you authorize the service?”
“I do.”
Ethan stared at me, stunned by the ordinariness of it. Not a scream. Not a threat. Just a decision, spoken plainly.
That, more than anything, seemed to unsettle him.
He backed away from the door.
“This isn’t over,” he said.
“No,” I replied. “It isn’t.”
He stood there another moment, perhaps expecting me to soften. When I did not, he turned and walked into the rain.
I watched until his car disappeared.
Only then did my knees weaken.