Chapter 1

Isaac Sanchez's last words were that he wanted to be buried beside the childhood sweetheart who had been his first love.

I served him for ten years, carried his soup and his medicine, and spent half a lifetime living like a widow at his side.

All it earned me, in his final moments, was his hand clutching mine and his voice thin as thread, giving his instructions. "Stella Henson... the hill behind the estate. Put me... and Hilda... together."

My heart went cold all the way through.

On the seventh night after his death, I moved into the side bedroom that had sat empty for years, and in a hidden compartment in his study I dug out a yellowed photograph of the two of them.

On the back, in that handwriting I knew so well: My wife, Hilda. Faithful to her all my life.

Laughable.

So it turned out the one he never let go of had never been me.

When I opened my eyes again, it was the third month after I'd married into the Sanchez family.

Isaac had just come home from the office, in his suit, faintly smelling of drink.

He loosened his tie, careless as ever. "Stella, isn't this jealousy of yours a little much? I only had dinner with a female client, and you smash every vase in the house over it?"

I stared at his young face, at the impatience he hadn't yet managed to hide behind his eyes.

"Isaac."

His fingers paused on his cufflink, and he looked up at me.

"Let's get divorced."

I pushed the agreement I'd already drawn up to the edge of the coffee table. "You're free. Go find your Hilda."

......

Isaac went completely still.

"Stella, what game are you playing now?"

He came over, picked up the divorce agreement, gave it a single glance, and let out a soft, contemptuous snort.

The paper crumpled into a ball between his long fingers and landed dead center in the trash can a few feet away.

"All because I didn't pick up your call and had dinner with a client?"

His tone was full of absurdity and impatience.

"Grown some backbone, have you? Learned to threaten me with divorce?"

I said nothing.

I only looked at him, quietly.

At this face I had loved for ten years, and hated for ten years.

In my last life, he was exactly like this too.

Always up on his pedestal, always taking everything as his due.

Everything I gave, to him, weighed less than a feather.

He was sick for ten years, so I took care of him for ten years.

I went from a girl barely past twenty who still had illusions about the future to a dull, dried-out woman with hands that reeked of medicine.

I used to think everyone's heart was made of flesh.

Ten years. Even a stone should have warmed by then.

But right up until he died, the one he thought of, the one he ached for, was still his first love, Hilda Summers.

So stingy he wouldn't even spare me a grave plot.

What was I even doing it for?

"Isaac, I'm not throwing a tantrum."

My voice was very calm.

So calm it felt foreign even to me.

"I mean it. I don't want any of it. I'll walk away with nothing."

My calm seemed to enrage him.

"Walk away with nothing?"

Isaac seized my wrist, gripping hard enough to frighten me.

"Stella, who are you playing so noble for?"

"Don't you forget how you married into this family in the first place. If your family hadn't come begging to my father, do you think you'd be standing here?"

A sharp pain shot through my wrist.

It hurt enough that my brow creased.

Right. I'd forgotten.

Ours was a business marriage.

The Hensons needed the Sanchez family's money, and Isaac needed a wife.

An obedient one, one who wouldn't cause him trouble, one who would let him pine for his first love in peace outside these walls.

Once, I'd been the perfect candidate.

"So I played along for three years. Now I want it over."

I tried to pull my hand back.

He only gripped tighter.

"Over? Did I agree to that?"

He bent down, his warm breath washing over my face, carrying a trace of liquor and a trace of danger.

"Stella, don't test my patience."

Looking at his face, so close to mine, I suddenly found it laughable.

"Your patience?"

I laughed softly. "Isn't all your patience saved for Hilda Summers?"

"Isaac, let go. Whatever was between us is over."

The instant I said Hilda's name, his expression dropped.

The air seemed to freeze solid.

He stared at me, hard.

"You've been investigating me?"

I couldn't be bothered to explain.

In my last life, that name, Hilda Summers, was a thorn lodged in my heart for ten years.

I listened to him murmur it in his sickbed.

I watched him lose himself staring at that photograph.

I even went up to the hill behind the estate myself and picked out the perfect resting spot where he and his beloved could lie together forever.

What was left for me to investigate?

I was tired.

"Are you letting go or not?"

My voice turned cold.

In the standoff, his phone rang.

That special, gentle ringtone. I remembered it until the day I died.

It was Hilda.

Isaac's expression shifted, and he let go of my hand without thinking.

He walked to the window, turned his back to me, and answered.

The voice that had been all menace a moment ago turned gentle in an instant.

"Hilda? Why are you still up so late?"

"Does your head still hurt? Did you take your medicine on time?"

"Me? I'm at home. It's nothing, don't read too much into it."

I turned and walked upstairs without looking back.

Behind me, Isaac was still soothing the person on the other end.

"Good girl, go to sleep early. I'll come see you tomorrow."

I stepped into the master bedroom and pulled open the closet.

It was packed with clothes of every kind, most of them bought by Isaac's assistant to suit his taste.

I hadn't touched a single one.

From the very bottom of the closet, I dragged out the small suitcase I'd brought with me when I married in.

I opened it. Inside were only a few of my own old clothes.

I lifted them out in silence, then set my few personal things inside, one piece at a time.

Slowly, but without wavering.

Enough.

It really was enough.