"How long were you married?"
"Almost twenty-five years," she said, which made me put her on the almost-fifty side of forty, though she didn’t look it.
"A man who you married, lived with, slept with, loved at some point, for twenty-five years, and you want to play axe murderer all over his ass?"
"More than anything in the world," she said.
"What did he do to piss you off this much?"
"That’s none of your business," she said, and her face said she believed I’d accept that answer. Apparently now that we’d agreed on a price she thought she could be arrogant.
"It is if you want me to raise him. Some crimes, some magicks, some problems in life can affect a zombie, make it harder to control. What did he do that was so terrible?"
"He told me he never wanted children. That they would interfere with his business and our social circle, and because I loved him I abided by his rules. Other friends would skip a few pills and come up accidentally pregnant, but I played fair. Chase didn’t want children so we didn’t have them." Her eyes were distant as if seeing something other than my office, something sad and faraway.
"If you wanted children then I’m sorry that he cost you that chance."
She focused on me again, and now the rage was in her eyes, her face. God, she was angry. "Two weeks ago a young man came to my door. He told me his mother had recently died and that he found letters. He showed me letters from my husband to his mother. There were pictures of them on vacations together. He took her to Rome, but wouldn’t take me. He took her to Paris, but wouldn’t take me. He once told me that I was one of the least romantic women he’d ever met; it was one of the reasons that he wanted me to be his wife and partner, because he knew that I wouldn’t let sentiment get in the way of getting wealthy and successful, because I wanted it as badly as he did."
"You’ve always been wealthy?" I asked.
She nodded. "It was my money that he used to start his company, but he made even more. There was a letter to this woman where he literally said that if he hadn’t signed a prenuptial agreement where he’d have to give up controlling interest in his company and have no money that he would have porced me and stayed with her and their son."
The look on her face was bleak, like someone who had seen the worst possible thing and lived. She knotted those slender, perfectly manicured hands in her lap and continued to stare past me at things I couldn’t see.
"That must have been very painful to read," I said.
She didn’t react.