"Productive," Andrew replied. His tone was steady, almost too calm. "We finalized plans for a big contract downtown. Could mean steady work for a few years."
"That's good," she said, her voice distracted. Her fork clinked against the plate as she scrolled through her phone.
Andrew leaned back, watching her. "Everything okay at the hospital?"
Lauren froze for a split second, then forced a smile. "Just the usual. Meetings, patient charts, chaos. You know how it is."
He nodded, but said nothing else. The silence stretched. For years, he had filled their dinners with stories from work, questions about the girls, small jokes to lighten her stress. Tonight, he let silence sit heavy, forcing her to shift uncomfortably in her chair.
When she excused herself to catch up on paperwork, Andrew waited until she disappeared into her office. Then, he went upstairs. The second phone buzzed again, and he unlocked it easily. The messages from Wesley were frantic: They're looking into me. We need to talk, tonight. Marriott, usual room.
Lauren responded within seconds: I'll be there. Don't worry, we'll figure it out.
Andrew snapped screenshots of every message, forwarding them quietly to his email. His plan was coming together.
The next morning, Andrew met with James Whitmore, his long-trusted attorney. The office smelled faintly of leather and old books, the weight of decades of legal battles lingering in the air.
"I want to file for divorce," Andrew said plainly, sliding the folder of evidence across the polished desk.