The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo
: Chapter 67

WHEN I GET HOME, I instinctively throw my bag onto the couch. I am tired, and I am angry, and my eyes feel dry and stiff, as if they have been wrung out like wet laundry.

I sit down, not bothering to take off my coat or my shoes. I respond to the e-mail my mother has sent containing her flight information for tomorrow. And then I lift my legs and rest my feet on the coffee table. As I do, they hit an envelope resting on the surface.

It is only then that I realize I even have a coffee table in the first place.

David brought it back. And on it rests an envelope addressed to me.

M—

I should never have taken the table. I don’t need it. It’s silly for it to sit in the storage unit. I was being petty when I left.

Enclosed is my key to the apartment and the business card of my lawyer.

I suppose there is not much else to say except that I thank you for doing what I could not.

—D

I put the letter down on the table. I put my feet back up. I wrestle myself out of my coat. I kick off my shoes. I lay my head back. I breathe.

I don’t think I would have ended my marriage without Evelyn Hugo.

I don’t think I would have stood up to Frankie without Evelyn Hugo.

I don’t think I would have had the chance to write a surefire bestseller without Evelyn Hugo.

I don’t think I would understand the true depths of my father’s devotion to me without Evelyn Hugo. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ Findɴovel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

So I think Evelyn is wrong about at least one thing.

My hate is not uncomplicated.

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