Chapter 3

I needed a job.

I'd studied jewelry design in college, but I married Isaac right after graduation, and the skill had gone to waste years ago.

I hadn't forgotten it, though.

In my last life, in the later stretch of his long illness, the Sanchez family business collapsed.

I was the one who picked the pencil back up, quietly taking on design work for a few small brands to help make ends meet, just enough to cover his expensive medical bills and keep the last of the Sanchez family's dignity intact.

I opened a secondhand site and bought a basic set of drawing tools.

Then I started sending out résumés online.

With no work experience, most of my applications sank without a trace.

I didn't let it get to me. I applied to one company after another.

At dusk, while I was bent over a design draft, reworking it, someone knocked on the door.

I assumed it was the landlord and opened it without thinking.

Isaac was standing outside.

He'd traded the suit for casual clothes, but his face looked worse than it had yesterday.

He looked at me, then glanced past me at the small, shabby room, and his brows knotted tight.

"Stella, are you done throwing this tantrum?"

"Come home with me."

His tone was a command, not up for discussion.

I stayed planted in the doorway, no intention of letting him in.

"This is my home."

"Home?"

He looked around like he'd heard a joke.

"You call a place like this fit to live in?"

The contempt in his voice was open, unhidden.

Something in me stung.

Right. The great Isaac Sanchez, born with a silver spoon in his mouth. When would he ever have set foot in a place "not fit to live in"?

"It's no match for the Sanchez mansion. But at least the air here is free."

"Free?"

Isaac gave a cold laugh.

"For this pathetic little scrap of freedom, you'd give up being Mrs. Sanchez? Give up everything?"

"Yes."

I answered without hesitation.

He stared at me, his eyes hard to read.

"All because of Hilda?"

He finally came out and asked it.

"I told you yesterday. She and I are just friends. Her health isn't good, so I look out for her a little more. What's the problem with that?"

"Stella, when did you turn so unreasonable?"

There it was again.

He would always be certain he'd done nothing wrong.

I was the one at fault, always. Making a big deal out of nothing. Being unreasonable.

"Isaac, who you choose to look after is your freedom. Choosing to divorce is mine."

"We stay out of each other's lives."

"You—"

My refusal to budge an inch seemed to push him past his limit.

"Stella, I'll give you one last chance. Right now, this second, you come back with me."

"Otherwise, you deal with the consequences yourself."

I looked at him, and all at once I just felt tired.

"Isaac, you don't need to threaten me."

"I'll have my lawyer send you the divorce papers. You sign them, and we part on good terms."

With that, I moved to close the door.

But he slammed a hand against it, holding it open.

"Part on good terms?"

"Stella, you're dreaming."

He pulled my wallet out of his pocket and threw it on the floor.

"Your cards. I've frozen all of them."

"Let's see how many days you last here without my money."

I looked at the wallet on the floor and didn't pick it up.