Chapter 1 - Fifth Floor, Facing the Lake
When I heard the lock click behind me, I still believed my husband would open the balcony door after a few seconds.
He didn’t.
I stood five stories above a frozen Chicago street in a sleeveless black dress and heels, watching wet snow collect on my bare shoulders while my husband poured himself another glass of wine on the other side of the glass.
The temperature was twenty-six degrees.
Inside, twelve people were eating prime rib beneath crystal chandeliers.
Outside, I was beginning to lose feeling in my fingers.
My mother-in-law, Vivian Carlisle, lifted her wineglass toward me and laughed.
“Maybe the cold will help you calm down, Claire.”
Several guests smiled nervously.
Most looked away.
But the worst part wasn’t Vivian.
The worst part was Ethan.
My husband of eight years laughed with her.
Not loudly. Just one short, embarrassed chuckle, as though his wife being locked outside in December were an awkward joke he had no choice but to tolerate.
I slapped my palm against the glass.
“Ethan. Open the door.”
He barely looked at me.
He made a dismissive motion with one hand.
“When you stop making a scene.”
“You pushed me out here.”
“I guided you outside because you were hysterical.”
“You locked the door.”
Vivian came closer.
For half a second, I thought she was going to let me in.
Instead, she touched two manicured fingers to the glass.
“Claire, sweetheart, you turn everything into a crisis. Five minutes of fresh air won’t kill you.”
Then she turned around and returned to the dinner table.
Someone passed a bowl of roasted potatoes.
Someone opened another bottle of wine.
Music played softly from hidden speakers.
Candles flickered against white linen.
And I stood outside shaking.
That was when I remembered my phone.
It was in the hidden pocket of my dress.
My fingers were already stiff when I pulled it out.
I didn’t call the police first.
I didn’t call my best friend.
I called my father.
Daniel Hart answered on the second ring.
“Claire?”
I couldn’t speak immediately.
I bit the inside of my cheek because hearing his voice almost made me cry.
“Dad.”
His voice changed.
Not louder.
Sharper.
“Where are you?”
I looked through the glass.
Ethan was speaking to a commercial banker as though nothing had happened.
Vivian had reclaimed her place at the head of the table.
Three hours earlier, my father had asked me a question that had made me furious.
How much longer do you want me to pretend I don’t see the way they treat you?
I had defended Ethan.
Again.
I told Dad business had been stressful.
I told him Vivian was difficult with everyone.
I told him marriages went through rough periods.
Dad hadn’t argued.
He had simply said, “One day, if you ever want me to see exactly what you see, call me.”
Standing barefoot inside my heels on that freezing balcony, I finally understood what he meant.
“Fifth floor,” I whispered. “Balcony facing the lake.”
May you like
There was silence.
Then my father said, “Don’t hang up.”
