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“We gave you everything,” Cynthia said to their children. “The best schools. The best teachers. The best advice. The best tennis lessons, for goodness’ sake. Vacations, cruises, therapists. Everything. Why can’t you pay us back with a bit of goodness? Why aren’t any of you married yet? You know that your father looks foolish, having raised four children who aren’t in long-term relationships, not engaged. No children to speak of.”

Suddenly, Chris clacked his wineglass on the table and glared at his mother. His laughter had run dry. “What did you expect, Mom? We saw how miserable you and Dad were with each other over the years. Were we supposed to run out and latch ourselves to a miserable marriage of our own?”

At this, Cynthia erupted from her chair, grabbed her glass of wine, and abandoned the table.

For a little while, Nathaniel and his children sat in stunned silence. It wasn’t until Jenny made another joke, Chris laughed, and Nathaniel rebounded that the dinner continued.

It was as though Cynthia had never been there.

Hours later, long after Nathaniel’s children had vacated the house to meet friends at various Boston bars, Nathaniel sat in his upstairs office, thinking about his marriage. Often, he was so burdened by the campaign that he didn’t let his thoughts drift that way, toward things he could never understand.

His children, of course, were generally right. Nathaniel and Cynthia had made one another miserable over the years. They’d met in university at nineteen, Nate a business major and Cynthia in pre-law. Back then as now, she’d been whip-smart and driven. Nate wasn’t sure how they’d ended up on a first date together, but he was pretty sure she’d made it happen. Somehow, they’d become a couple. Unsurprisingly, given who Cynthia’s family was, his father and mother had been very pleased with Cynthia as a potential wife, and they’d convinced him to marry her early—long before either of them was set to graduate. Before the age of twenty-two, in fact, Cynthia had given birth to Ben and Billy, bringing them into a family that seemed less focused on love than status.

The motive— from both Nathaniel’s father and Cynthia’s mother—was to extend the family line.

Sometimes, back in those early days, Nathaniel would wake up in the middle of the night and think, How did I get here?

After Ben and Billy were born, Nathaniel knew one thing for sure. Although he loved his first sons, he didn’t want to have any more children. Cynthia was angry, exhausted, and volatile, and although they had plenty of childcare help, she often blamed the children for how she felt. He didn’t want to bring any more humans into that dynamic. He didn’t want them to feel Cynthia’s wrath.

When had Nathaniel suggested to Cynthia that they get divorced? It must have been the summer of 2000, he thought. They’d spent much of their time between Nantucket Island and her family’s place on Martha’s Vineyard, playing the happy family of four, smiling in photographs and telling everyone how pleased they were to be out of the city for a while. But when Nathaniel had suggested to Cynthia that they get divorced, that they “end this misery,” she’d screamed at him. She said that she’d go to the press and tell them “all the horrible things” he’d done to her over the years. Nathaniel asked what she meant.

She said, “You know what you did.”

Although Nathaniel had done nothing, fear kept him with Cynthia. It wasn’t only fear for her and her threats, he knew. It was fear of the unknown, fear of becoming someone his father couldn’t recognize.

Suddenly, the phone rang, startling Nathaniel from his reverie. He answered it.

“Nathaniel! I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.” It was Peter Miller, Nathaniel’s old college friend and current political opponent. Last Nathaniel checked, Peter was trailing in the polls by 11 percent, a hefty margin and not something Peter could overcome unless something heinous happened to Nathaniel’s campaign.

“Hi there, old friend,” Nathaniel said. “How’s the campaign? Are you calling to back down?”

Peter laughed good-naturedly. “Nothing like that,” he said. “You know me. I play tirelessly till the end.”

“I remember,” Nathaniel said, thinking of the times they’d played football in their twenties, how Peter had always left the field bloody and broken.

“And you? How are you, Nathaniel?”

“All things considered, I’m fine. All the kids are in town,” Nathaniel said.

“Is that so? Cynthia must be pleased,” Peter said.

“You know Cynthia. She’s rarely pleased about anything,” Nathaniel said.

At this, Peter roared with laughter. Nathaniel wondered whether Peter’s memories of Cynthia came from their college days or from later. Nathaniel and Peter’s families had run around together until at least the mid-2010s. He couldn’t remember fully why they’d stopped. But now they were on opposite ends of this election, and their campaigns’ hearts were opposed. Peter had said tremendously awful things about the very people in Boston Nathaniel was trying to protect, and Nathaniel felt no tenderness toward him.

“Tell me,” Peter began again. “Have the rumors reached you yet? I can’t imagine those will be comfortable to hear.”

Nathaniel arched his eyebrow. “What rumors?”

Peter hissed. Nathaniel sensed it was all a performance, something to keep Nathaniel from a good night’s sleep—a bit of subterfuge.

“I’m sure they’re just rumors, Nate,” Peter said. “But these sorts of things can take a real toll on a mayoral campaign, as I’m sure you know. And I know you’ve worked hard to get out from under your father’s thumb.”

Nathaniel leaned back in his chair and smiled, because he wasn’t sure what else to do with his face. “I can’t imagine what rumors could be circulating about me, Peter. Only false ones.”

“I’m glad your conscience is clear, then,” Peter said brightly.

“I’m curious, though. What are people saying?” Nathaniel asked.