Sneak Peek!
A Life Rewritten
Chapter One
People always said that Manhattan glittered at night, but even in the lights, Abigail Whitney had never felt so invisible. She watched Michael’s fingers curl around the stem of his wine glass, his gold wedding band catching the light from the crystal chandelier hanging above them. The band was a perfect match to her own, although she sometimes wondered if the matching set was the only thing connecting them anymore.
“And then,” Michael said, leaning in toward the table of rapt listeners, “I told the board they were making a catastrophic error. We’re talking millions in potential revenue, just waiting to be claimed, and they were balking over regulatory concerns.” He chuckled, swirling his wine with practiced elegance. “Regulatory concerns that I had already addressed in the proposal they clearly hadn’t bothered to read.”
The assembled group—two investment bankers, their wives, and their attorney and his wife—erupted in appreciative laughter. Abby forced a smile, sipping her wine and letting her gaze drift across Le Bernardin’s elegant dining room. Across the table, Elaine Harrington caught her eye and gave her a cheerful, conspiratorial wink. Abby’s smile turned genuine. She and Elaine went back to their debutante days, and she was grateful their friends had been included in the invite, it made it feel slightly less like the networking dinner it was.
Michael had been home for just two days after his last trip to Los Angeles, and tomorrow he’d be gone again. Most of his time at home had been spent behind his office door, taking calls and preparing for his return to the West Coast. She had looked forward to this dinner out with him . . . until she realized it wouldn’t just be the two of them.
“You always did know how to close a deal, Michael,” Benny Rubinski said, adjusting his glasses. As Michael and Abby’s attorney for the past decade, Benny had witnessed firsthand Michael’s meteoric rise as a mergers and acquisitions specialist at The Vandermeer Group, eventually leading to his promotion to Chief Operating Officer. “Remember that Jenkins’ acquisition? I thought we’d need the Jaws of Life to pry those concessions out of them.”
“That was all Michael,” Marcia Rubinski chimed in, her diamond bracelet sparkling as she gestured. “Benny came home that night saying he’d never seen anyone negotiate like that.”
“You’re brilliant, Michael,” gushed Elaine. “The Vandermeer Group is lucky to have you.”
Abby watched her husband bask in the praise, his shoulders straightening almost imperceptibly. She felt the familiar mix of pride and unease—pride in his accomplishments, unease at how much he seemed to need the validation. Her father had handpicked Michael as both his successor and son-in-law, recognizing in him an ambition that matched his own. But did that ambition leave room for anything else?
“Abby’s father knew talent when he saw it,” Michael replied, raising his glass in her direction. “To Robert Vandermeer, may he rest in peace. He gave me not only a career but my beautiful wife.”
The rest of the table followed suit, and Abby dutifully lifted hers, her smile automatic. Her father had indeed introduced them, practically orchestrating their courtship from the beginning. At nineteen, she’d been dazzled by Michael’s worldliness, his stories, his confidence. It’d been easy to get swept up in the romance of it all.
Michael was handsome in a sulky James Dean sort of way. He wore his straight, light brown hair slicked back, and a neatly trimmed beard accentuated his chiseled cheekbones. He had an imposing Romanesque nose that was slightly crooked from an overzealous game of football with his brother, Jack, when they were in their teens. He stood at an even six feet, just two inches taller than Abby, and while he’d been muscular when they were first married, he’d recently started getting a bit paunchy. His true charm, however, was his eyes. They were slightly narrow and an ordinary shade of hazel, but it just took one look from him to make you feel as if you were the only person in a crowded room. Abby used to joke that he could sell ice at the North Pole. Now, nearly fifteen years later, she watched him perform for their dinner companions with a practiced ease that seemed almost rehearsed. Where had the romance gone?
“Speaking of beautiful,” said Stephen Harrington, Elaine’s husband, “I heard you just returned from Los Angeles, Michael. Perfect weather as usual?”
“Perfect everything,” Michael replied with a wink. “Closed the Peterson deal, played a round at the country club, and still made it back to New York in time for this lovely dinner.”
A commotion near the entrance drew Abby’s attention. A young couple were being escorted to a table, their daughter—perhaps four or five years old—trailed behind them in a frilly dress, her patent leather shoes clicking on the polished floor.
“Honestly,” Elaine muttered, following Abby’s gaze. “Who brings a child to Le Bernardin? Some people have no consideration.”
“Mmm,” Stephen agreed. “I can already hear the inevitable meltdown when she doesn’t like the foie gras.”
The group chuckled, and Abby watched as the little girl carefully climbed onto her chair, her mother helping her arrange her napkin in her lap. There was something so tender in the gesture, so loving. Abby felt an ache bloom in her chest.
“Michael,” Abby said, seizing a momentary lull in the conversation, “I was thinking I might join you in Los Angeles this trip.”
The reaction was instantaneous. Michael’s hand jerked, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim of his glass. He recovered quickly, but his eyes flashed a warning, his expression shifting to one of mild surprise. Abby couldn’t remember the last time she’d accompanied him to Los Angeles—it had been years, certainly. The trips had gradually become his alone, with her staying behind in New York at his and her mother’s insistence.
“Darling,” Michael replied, his voice tight beneath its veneer of charm, “you know how boring those business trips are. All work and no play.”
“I don’t mind,” Abby persisted. “I could explore the city while you’re working. We could have dinner together in the evenings.”
“What about your committee meeting for The Metropolitan Museum gala,” he said. “And didn’t you mention something about the hospital fundraiser needing your attention?”
Before Abby could respond, Elaine jumped in. “Oh, Abby, you can’t miss the committee meeting! We’re finalizing the seating arrangements, and you know how that goes. If you’re not there to defend your territory, you’ll end up seated next to that dreadful Cunningham woman all night.”
The table laughed, and Abby felt the moment slip away.
“You’re right, of course,” she conceded, her smile firmly in place. “Perhaps another time.”
Michael’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and he smoothly steered the conversation toward the upcoming charity auction at Sotheby’s. Abby picked at her perfectly prepared sea bass, her appetite gone. Across the restaurant, the little girl was giggling as her father pretended to steal a bite from her plate. The mother caught the father’s eye, and they shared a private smile that spoke volumes about their connection.
When had she and Michael last shared such a moment? Abby couldn’t remember. Their relationship had become so performative, so focused on appearances, that she sometimes wondered if there was anything authentic left between them.
The sommelier appeared to refill their glasses, and Abby placed her hand over hers. “Just water, please,” she said.
“Everything okay?” Michael asked, his eyebrows raised in concern that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Perfect,” she replied, echoing his earlier assessment of Los Angeles.
By the time the dessert menus arrived, Abby found her resolve hardening. She’d been thinking about this for months, during lonely nights in their Upper East Side apartment.
“I’ve been volunteering at the Children’s Aid Society,” she said, her voice stronger than intended.
The table’s attention swiveled to her, perhaps surprised to hear her speak unprompted.
“How charitable,” Stephen said, clearly unsure how to respond.
“It’s been incredibly rewarding,” Abby continued, her eyes fixed on Michael. “Working with the children, seeing how resilient they are despite everything they’ve been through.”
Michael’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, a tiny muscle jumping near his temple. “Abby has always had a soft heart,” he said, his tone indulgent but dismissive.
Across the restaurant, the little girl had fallen asleep in her father’s arms. He cradled her gently while her mother paid the bill. The image burned into Abby’s mind—the tenderness, the completeness of their family unit.
“I’ve been thinking about adoption,” she blurted out. The words falling into the conversation like stones into still water.
The ripples were immediate. Elaine’s eyebrows shot up. Her husband suddenly became very interested in his dessert menu. The other couple exchanged glances.
Michael’s smile never wavered, but his eyes had gone cold, like glass frosting over. “We are not having this conversation here,” he said, his voice low but firm.
“Why not?” Abby challenged. “You’re barely home long enough to talk there.”
A heavy silence fell over the table. Michael cleared his throat, his business smile firmly in place, though a vein now pulsed visibly at his temple.
“My wife has an extraordinary sense of humor,” he said smoothly. “Now, who’s interested in the chocolate soufflé? I hear it’s transcendent.”
The tension at the table eased slightly as everyone seized on the change of subject. Abby’s cheeks flushed. She’d gone too far, and she knew it. She lowered her eyes to her plate, nodding mechanically when Michael ordered a soufflé for them to share.
For the remainder of the evening, Abby remained quiet, speaking only when directly addressed. She could feel Michael’s displeasure radiating toward her like heat from a furnace, though his outward demeanor remained impeccable. By the time they climbed into the back of their town car, the silence between them was thick with unspoken words.
“That was inappropriate,” Michael finally said once the privacy divider was up.
“I know,” Abby replied softly. “I’m sorry.”
“The Harringtons are key investors. What were you thinking? That kind of talk makes them uncomfortable.”
“I didn’t realize our marriage was part of your investment strategy.”
Michael’s head snapped toward her. “Don’t start, Abby. Not tonight.”
The rest of the ride passed in silence. When they arrived at their apartment building, Michael nodded to the doorman while Abby walked ahead. They rode up to their floor without speaking, the soft hum of the elevator the only sound between them.
The apartment was dark and quiet when they entered, their maid, Muriel, having left hours ago. Abby slipped off her heels while Michael hung up his coat.
“Would you like a nightcap?” she asked, offering a peace gesture.
“No,” Michael replied curtly. “I have an early flight.”
Abby watched as he loosened his tie and headed toward his office. Another night, another closed door.
“Michael,” she called after him, surprising herself with her persistence. “Can we please talk about this?”
He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “There’s nothing to talk about. We’ve been over this. I don’t want children, Abby. Not now, not ever.”
“But I do,” she insisted, her voice small but steady. “I’ve always wanted them. You knew that when we got married.”
Michael turned to face her, his expression weary. “And you knew I didn’t. I was very clear about that.”
“People change,” Abby said, taking a step toward him. “I thought maybe you would.”
“Well, I haven’t.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I have work to do before my flight. We can talk about this when I get back, if you insist.”
“Will we?” Abby asked. “Or will you find another reason to avoid it?”
Michael’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re gone more than you’re here. It means when you are here, you’re locked in your office. It means we don’t talk anymore, not about anything real or meaningful.”
“I’m building a career, Abby. For us. For our future.”
“What future?” she asked, the words escaping before she could stop them. “A future where we live in separate cities? Where we only see each other a few days a month? That’s not a marriage, Michael. That’s a business arrangement.”
His expression hardened. “You knew what you were signing up for when you married me. Your father certainly did.”
The mention of her father stung. “This isn’t about my father. This is about us.”
“No, Abby, this is about you suddenly deciding you want to upend our lives by bringing in a child. A child that isn’t even ours.” His voice had risen slightly, and he took a deep breath to compose himself. “After your miscarriage, we agreed—”
“No, you decided,” Abby interrupted, her voice trembling. “You decided it was for the best.” The memory of that loss still ached somewhere deep inside her.
She remembered how devastated she’d been, lying in that hospital bed eight years ago, while Michael had seemed almost relieved. He’d patted her hand and told her it was probably nature’s way of saying they weren’t meant to be parents. She’d been too grief-stricken to argue, too numb to fight for what she wanted. It had been easier, at the time, to defer to Michael’s certainty than to face her own grief.
“You decided adoption was off the table. Just like you decide everything else in our lives. I just . . . went along with it.”
Michael’s face flushed. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” Abby challenged. “When was the last time you asked what I wanted? What would make me happy?”
“I’ve given you everything,” Michael shouted, gesturing around their luxurious apartment. “This home, your social standing, the freedom to pursue your charity work. What more could you possibly want?”
“A real marriage,” Abby said quietly. “A family. Love.”
Michael sighed, his anger seeming to deflate. “I’m tired, Abby. I have a flight at six in the morning. Can we please not do this tonight?”
She wanted to push, to force the conversation, but the resignation in his eyes stopped her. This was how it always went—she would try to talk, he would deflect, and nothing would change.
“Fine,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “Good night, Michael.”
He nodded, then disappeared into his office, closing the door behind him. She stood alone in the hallway, the click of the lock echoing in the silence.
With a heavy sigh, Abby made her way to their bedroom, the familiar ache of disappointment settling in her chest. She changed into her nightgown, removed her makeup, and slipped under the covers, knowing Michael wouldn’t join her until she was already asleep.
Morning came too quickly, gray light filtering through the curtains. Abby opened her eyes to find Michael’s side of the bed barely disturbed. He must have come to bed very late and risen very early. She could hear him moving around in the bathroom, the familiar sounds of his morning routine.
He barely glanced at her as he emerged, already dressed in one of his impeccably tailored suits.
“My car is here,” he said, checking his watch. “I should be back in two weeks. I’ll call when I land.”
“Like you did last time?” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
He paused, briefcase in hand. “I was busy.”
“You’re always busy.”
Michael sighed. “Let’s not do this now, Abby. I have a plane to catch.”
She sat up in bed, drawing the sheet around her. “When, then? When are we going to talk about the real issues in our marriage?”
“When I get back,” he said.
They both knew it was a lie.
He crossed to her side of the bed and leaned down to kiss her cheek, the gesture as perfunctory as a handshake between business associates.
“Have a safe flight,” she said, the words automatic.
Michael straightened, adjusting his tie. “I’ll call,” he repeated, and then he was gone, the bedroom door closing softly behind him.
Abby listened to his footsteps receding, the sound of the front door opening and closing. Then silence, the kind that seemed to fill every corner of their spacious apartment whenever he left.