Chapter 1

During a meeting, my son's preschool teacher called to say he had a 102-degree fever.

I couldn't get away, so I texted my husband to pick him up.

It wasn't until the meeting ended that the teacher called again.

"What kind of parents are you? Your kid is so sick he can barely stay conscious. Are you coming or not?"

I dumped the stack of files on my desk and grabbed a cab straight to the preschool.

My son's little face was red with fever, and he started crying when he saw me. I didn't have time to comfort him, so I scooped him up and rushed him to the ER.

When he finally broke the fever and fell asleep, I collapsed into the visitor's chair and opened my phone.

Half an hour earlier, my husband's female client had sent me a message.

"Ava, I'm so jealous you have such a great husband."

"He found out I had a fever and a cold, bought me medicine, and even came over himself to take care of me."

"If you like him, take him. A scumbag and a slut are a perfect match."

After sending it, I turned off my phone.

At 2 a.m., the hallway in the pediatric hospital was finally quiet.

After Noah's fever broke, he slept soundly, his tiny hand still clinging tightly to the hem of my shirt.

I stared at the drip line as the medicine fell drop by drop, and my phone screen lit up again.

Ryan's third message.

"Something came up with a client, and I can't get away. Hang in there for me."

Hang in there for me.

My son had a 102-degree fever, the preschool teacher had called four times, and he was taking care of another woman, then casually tossing me a "hang in there for me."

I didn't reply. I just dialed his number.

It rang six times before he answered.

It was loud on his end, with music, clinking glasses, and a woman's coy laughter.

"Hello?" Ryan's voice was a little slurred. He'd been drinking.

"Noah's in the hospital."

"I know. Didn't you already pick him up? What did the doctor say?"

"Viral infection. Fever hit 104.4."

"Then keep him in the hospital and spend the money if you have to. Don't be cheap."

The woman beside him laughed again. I couldn't make out what she said, but Ryan was replying to her, his voice so gentle it was almost painful to hear.

"Noah wants to see you."

My voice was very calm when I said that.

"I really can't get away right now. Mr. Bennett landed a huge contract today, then got sick at the celebration dinner, and nobody's taking care of him. I have to stay with him. Tell Noah Dad will come see him early tomorrow morning."

The call ended.

I gripped my phone so hard my knuckles turned white.

Noah must have woken up at some point. He was dazed from the fever and softly murmured, "Dad."

I pulled him into my arms and pressed my chin against his burning forehead.

"Dad is busy. Mom's here. Mom is always here."

At seven the next morning, Ryan still hadn't come.

At nine, the nurse came to remove the IV. Noah cried from the pain, still calling for Dad.

I coaxed him for a long time before he finally fell asleep, then picked up my phone to order takeout when a text popped up.

It was from that female client, Chloe.

It was a breakfast photo.

A beautifully plated spread, pour-over coffee, and a plate of sliced fruit.

"Someone said he didn't take good care of me last night, so he insisted on bringing me breakfast first thing in the morning to make it up to me. So thoughtful."

Someone.

I didn't open the full image, but I knew that dining table. It was the island in my kitchen.

The tableware I bought, the tablecloth I picked out, the solid wood table I wiped down three times a week.

Now it was holding coffee that belonged to another woman, photographed by another woman, and sent to me as a provocation.

I set my phone face down by the bed and took three deep breaths.

Then I opened my contacts and found one person.

"Brooke, help me set up a lawyer. The sooner, the better."

Megan was my college roommate and had opened her own law firm. She focused on family law.

She texted back instantly: "You've made up your mind?"

"I have."

"I'll set it up right away. Don't do anything rash, and make sure you keep the evidence."

Evidence.

I opened my chat history with Ryan and scrolled back three months.

"Working late tonight, not coming home for dinner."

"Out of town this weekend, take Noah to your mom's place."

"Dinner with a client. I'll be home later."

The excuses kept piling up, and he came home less and less.

I used to think he was really busy. After all, his startup had just gotten off the ground, and a lot of socializing made sense.

It wasn't until last month, at Noah's preschool parent event, when he promised he'd come and then said he suddenly had a meeting that day.

I stayed with Noah to do crafts and play games by myself, while the other parents looked at me with nothing but pity.

One mom leaned over and asked in a low voice, "Is your husband super busy with work? I've never seen him."

Back then, I still covered for him.

"Yeah, it's a startup. There's nothing we can do."

Now that I think about it, he wasn't busy.

He just spent all his time on someone else.

At two in the afternoon, Noah's fever finally broke, and he had a little more energy. He kept clamoring for strawberries.

I went downstairs to buy some. On the way past the convenience store at the hospital entrance, I caught sight of a black Porsche out of the corner of my eye.

The license plate looked familiar.

It was Ryan's car.

He was here?

I subconsciously looked into the car, but there was no one in the driver's seat.

I carried the strawberries back inside. As soon as I entered the hospital lobby, I saw two people standing by the elevator.