The dishcloth was still damp in Diane Mercer’s hand when her husband ended their marriage at the dinner table — not with a confession of infidelity, not by slamming the door, but with a single, calm sentence in front of everyone, while her twenty-year-old daughter sat there, smiling after calling Diane ‘the staff’.

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The dishcloth was still damp in Diane Mercer’s hand when her husband ended their marriage at the dinner table — not with a confession of infidelity, not by slamming the door, but with a single, calm sentence in front of everyone, while her twenty-year-old daughter sat there, smiling after calling Diane ‘the staff’.
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