Chapter 1

After returning to your family, who do you feel you've wronged the most?

My husband voted for his mistress.

Maybe it started six months ago, when I found out about his affair.

I used a drone to scatter private cards printed with him and his mistress—six dollars apiece—all over Seaford.

And I made a scene at his company for seven days, ugly enough that it went too far.

Nathan had no choice but to send his mistress away and come back to the family.

From that day on, he gave me the silent treatment.

And at that time I was three months pregnant.

Because of his cold cruelty, I lay awake every night until dawn.

At four months, my morning sickness came up streaked with blood, and Nathan finally softened.

He cooked a whole table of food.

"From now on, I'll be good to you and the baby."

And that was the very day I saw his vote.

On his profile page,

three days ago, in the small hours—after he'd lulled me to sleep—he'd taken the mistress who was supposed to be gone out to sea to look at the night view.

The photo had a line of text underneath.

"Starting today, I compromise with life."

I stared at that post for a long time.

For some reason, he wanted to compromise.

But I no longer did.

——

When Nathan came home, his scent had changed.

He hadn't changed his clothes, but he'd secretly showered once before coming back.

He tossed his phone down next to me.

"Same password as always. I was in meetings all day and never went out. Check it if you want."

As he spoke, he walked straight to the dining room.

I didn't pick up the phone.

There was nothing to see. That phone was just like Nathan himself—

scrubbed clean before he came home, no trace left behind.

He'd learned how to handle me.

Nathan didn't find the dinner I'd prepared for him on the table.

In the past, no matter what, I always thought of his stomach trouble,

and had someone make the dishes he liked.

Especially since today was Thanksgiving, and also my birthday.

Nathan frowned,

wearing that look again, as if watching to see how unreasonable I'd be.

"Aren't we celebrating today?"

My hand, cutting the festive pie, went still, and I set down the knife.

"You're already full—could you even eat anything at home?"

At the revolving restaurant on the 180th floor of Seaview Tower, by the window,

Nathan had first sat with Kayla and ordered a whole table of food,

eating more than half of it as if to humor her.

I never used to understand why Nathan never had an appetite at home.

I racked my brains studying recipes,

even went and got a certification.

In the end I found, almost laughably, that Nathan didn't have a poor appetite—he'd already eaten out.

How can one person have two stomachs?

Nathan was quiet for a moment,

his eyes distant and cold.

"My meeting started at three and ended at five. It's five-thirty now, and I checked in with you every half hour. Do you think I had time to go out for dinner?"

"Ebony, can you please stop being so suspicious?"

I put a small piece of festive pie in my mouth,

but it was so sweet it tasted bitter.

To everyone else, Nathan had always been good to me.

He remembered every holiday and anniversary.

He was always making little surprises for me—even the bouquets he ordered every day matched what I was wearing.

He checked in with me, and I knew all his passwords.

He said he wasn't afraid of me checking.

My best friend had always envied me.

"For a man to be so open and aboveboard, it means you're the only one in his heart."

I trusted him too.

Until the sixth year of our marriage,

when, for the first time ever, I checked his phone.

There was still nothing.

At first Nathan laughed at me for having a paranoid fit.

Later he got a little angry,

because no matter what he did, I felt something was off.

He got the flowers I liked wrong, switched to a toothpaste brand I'd never heard of,

even quit the iced Americano he was never without.

I just had a feeling—he was cheating.

Nathan hired a psychologist for me, said I was sick.

So later, while taking the medication,

I caught him and Kayla in bed together.

I thought of the smile on his face tonight, sitting there having dinner with his little mistress.

It seemed he still didn't know who Kayla really was.

I touched my face—even the spaces between my fingers were wet.

I laughed softly.

"I can't live like this anymore. Let's get a divorce."