Chapter 1

1: 1

Quinton James and I had been together six years, and his favorite thing to do was check my phone.

He always said,

"My girlfriend's too pretty. I'm scared some other guy will try something."

He deleted every man from my contacts. He didn't even spare my own cousin.

I thought that was love.

Until the day his phone ended up in my bag and the screen suddenly lit up.

A payment alert popped up.

"Allowance for the wife, $52,000 transferred."

I froze for a couple of seconds, then tapped in without quite knowing why.

I opened the history. Every month for the past year, he'd sent money to the same account, like clockwork.

The notes went from "spending money for my baby" to "clothes for the wife," and later to "food and vitamins for the wife and the baby."

Every day he was showing off how in love he was, posting gifts, posting dates, posting photos of the two of them.

Every single post said how much he loved her.

The only person he'd blocked was me.

My fingers shook as I booked a flight home for a week later.

Six years of us. I let it go.

1

Hands trembling, I put the phone back in my bag.

I sat down on the couch, hands and feet ice-cold, my mind a blank.

Six years with Quinton James, and he'd deleted every man from my contacts until he was the only thing left in my world.

My whole life revolved around him. Every hour I had, I gave to him.

Yet in six years, every birthday, every anniversary, all he ever gave me was a stuffed animal from the gift shop by our building.

His social media feed. Hundreds of posts, and every one of them was about another girl.

He'd wired her over a million dollars.

She was young. Her smile was sweet.

In the newest post, she had one hand resting on her belly, leaning against Quinton's shoulder, her eyes soft as water.

I suddenly realized that the man I'd shared a bed with for six years was someone I'd never really known at all.

I picked up my own phone. My chat with Quinton was still frozen where it had been half an hour ago.

He'd said, "Going out to grab dinner with the guys. Be good at home, okay?"

I closed the chat and canceled the order for our custom wedding ring.

Then I booked a flight home for a week later.

Right then, his phone started buzzing.

I hesitated a few seconds, then hit answer.

It was his buddy Max Henson on the other end.

"Hey, Quinton's drunk, left his phone at home. Any chance you could bring it over, and pick him up while you're at it?"

I was silent for a moment, then said,

"Sure."

At the restaurant, I walked up to the private room and heard the noise blurring together inside.

"Quinton, congrats, man! Proposed to Rosamund Henson today and she said yes!"

"I'm jealous. Successful career, a beautiful woman on your arm. You've got it all."

Then someone spoke up.

"So what are you going to do about Noreen Pruitt?"

Quinton's voice came slow and lazy with the drink.

"We've been together six years. She can't leave me. I'll give her a wedding when the time comes, and as for the marriage certificate, I'll just fake one to keep her happy."

The room roared with laughter.

"Nice. One gets the certificate, one gets the wedding. No conflict for you at all."

I stood outside the door like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

His friends, I'd barely ever met. Because Quinton never let me add them.

Every time, he'd say,

"My girlfriend's too pretty. I'm scared some other guy will try something."

But it never occurred to me that his buddies all knew he was playing two women against each other.

I clenched my fists hard, turned, and left.

Quinton came home late that night, reeking of alcohol.

He walked up to me with a wounded look.

"Noreen, why didn't you come get me?"

I said nothing.

He held up the bag in his hand.

"Your favorite. Palmier pastries from South Southport. I stood in line two hours for these."

The old me would have thrown my arms around him already.

But now I finally understood. Those little gifts he brought home after every night out were nothing but a guilty conscience.

I said flatly,

"I'm not hungry. Go to bed."

Late that night, my stomach began to ache, faint at first.

I lay there with my eyes open until morning, and the pain kept getting worse, my face going pale, cold sweat breaking out layer after layer.

Quinton was at the entryway changing his shoes, about to leave.

I called out to him weakly.

"Quinton, I don't feel well. Can you take me to the hos—"

He cut me off without turning around.

"Noreen, I've got things at the office today. I'm heading out."

The door shut with a snap.

The pain curled me into a ball, cold sweat soaking my clothes, my vision starting to blur.

I stretched for my phone with everything I had. The second my fingertips touched it, it slipped to the floor, and I went down with it.

With the last of my strength, I dialed for an ambulance.

Then everything went black, and I knew nothing more.

When I woke, I was lying in a hospital bed.

A nurse pushed the door open, saw my eyes were open, and smiled.

"You're awake? You had us scared when they brought you in. Ectopic pregnancy, heavy bleeding. Half an hour later and you'd have been gone."

I froze.

She flipped through the chart.

"Good thing the surgery was in time. You need to take better care of yourself from now on. Where's your family?"

I looked up, my eyes dry, not a single tear left in me.

Just then, a familiar voice came from out in the hallway.