settled into my place in Marblehead. Calling it a house hardly did it justice: weathered cedar and wide windows stood on a rise overlooking the sea, with a slim footpath winding down toward the stones at the shoreline. Dad had signed it over to me two years before my wedding because he and Mom rarely used it. Aaron had come exactly twice. He’d complained about the drive on his first visit, then spent the second taking three business calls out on the deck. Afterward he’d always found an excuse to
The fifth time my husband stayed out all night, I didn’t call him—I opened his company’s Slack and told more than five hundred employees
