"No, this is the last time. I mean it. We just have to get through this week."
Longer pause. Then, soft like a knife going in slowly:
"I love you, Derek."
The words land, but they don't explode anything inside me. They just slot into place with everything else. One more piece on an already crowded board.
I focus on the facts. She's planning one last time. She's emotionally tied in, not just physically. She thinks the problem is getting caught, not what she's doing.
I don't storm into the hallway. I don't say her name. I let her have the illusion of secrecy because it's still working for me. By Thursday, she's talking about resetting our marriage after this busy stretch, suggesting a weekend away.
Maybe more cooking. More touches. More careful smiles. Friday morning, the day of the rooftop party, she wraps her arms around me from behind while I'm drinking coffee.
"You know I love you, right?" she asks.
I look out the kitchen window at the street. Calm. "I know what you choose," I say.
She doesn't understand the sentence. But she hears what she wants to hear and squeezes tighter. As I drive to work, there's no debate left in my head. The marriage is already over.
The paperwork and the rooftop are just formalities. The second rooftop feels colder, even with the heaters running. Different night. Same view of downtown Chicago, pretending nothing ugly ever happens under its lights.
This time, I came alone. Monica said she wasn't feeling well. Too sick for a party. Not too sick to keep her phone close.
I told her to rest. She said she was sorry. I told her there'd be a lot of that going around soon. Under my jacket, two recorders sit snug in the lining, both on.
In my pocket, my phone is ready. Screen set to one tap for another recording if I need it. Marcus is on standby, waiting for my call. The music's louder tonight.
People drink harder when they feel a storm they can't name. Derek's already half gone by the time I see him. Tie loosened, eyes glassy, holding court at the center of a laughing circle. He spots me and grins like he just found his favorite toy.
"Miller!" he shouts, voice carrying over the speakers. "You came back. Thought rooftops weren't your thing anymore."
A few heads turn. Old witnesses from last time. They remember.
I step into the open space between us where everyone can see. My heartbeat is steady. My hands are empty.
"Nice night," I say. "Good crowd."
He swagger-walks closer. "Are you here to cry or climb, buddy?"
I raise my voice just enough to cut through the music. "I'm here about your job, Derek. Not about my wife."