"You want to talk options?" he said.
"I want to draw a clean line," I said. "No shouting. Just reality."
That evening, Brooke was chopping bell peppers for her meal prep when I walked in, rinsed my hands, and leaned on the counter like we were just married again and about to debate movie night.
"Brooke," I said, voice level. "Is Sedona set?"
Her knife paused. "How did you—"
"Is it set?"
She squared her shoulders. "Yes, I'm going. I hope you can see this is me being honest."
"This is me being honest," I said. "If you go, our marriage ends. No door left cracked. Think hard."
She stared, then looked down at her neat row of peppers. "I need to know what I feel."
"Then you'll know," I said. "And so will I."
I slept—not well, but long enough to wake with a clear head and a calmer heart. People imagine revenge is lava. Mine was ice water: controlled, measured, and very, very cold.