Chapter 2

Maya POV

I didn't wait for my mother to ask any more questions. I hung up and went straight to work.

I haunted the house like a ghost, systematically stripping the shelves of everything he had ever given me.

The limited edition books. The cashmere scarves. The earrings he bought for my birthday.

I threw them all into a cardboard box.

I picked up the fake Star necklace from the counter and tossed it on top of the pile.

It landed with a dull, final thud.

I looked at our wedding photo on the mantelpiece.

Liam was looking at me like I was the only person in the world.

It was a snapshot of a lie. A perfect performance captured in silver.

I took the photo out of the frame and flipped it over. I couldn't bear to look at his eyes.

I shoved the box into the closet and slammed the door shut.

Just then, the front door opened.

"Maya? I'm home!"

Liam's voice was cheerful. Too cheerful.

He walked into the living room, wielding a massive bouquet of red roses.

He looked impeccable. Not a hair out of place.

"Happy Anniversary," he said, holding out the flowers.

He stepped closer, leaning in to kiss me.

I turned my head, letting his lips graze my ear.

And then it hit me. Underneath his expensive cologne, the faint, cloying scent of vanilla.

Ava's scent.

I stepped back, putting vital distance between us.

"I'm tired," I said.

Liam frowned, but he masked it quickly. He set the flowers on the side table.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry I'm late."

He reached into his pocket.

"I didn't have time to wrap it," he said, pulling out a slip of paper. "But I wanted you to have this."

He handed it to me.

It was a check. A blank check from Cartier.

"Get whatever you want," he said, smiling that charming smile. "You deserve the best."

I stared at the check.

He hadn't bought the necklace because he'd already given it to her.

He was buying my silence with a piece of paper.

"Thank you," I said.

I didn't smile. I couldn't.

I folded the check and shoved it in my pocket.

Liam loosened his tie. He looked restless.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his face paled.

"I have to go," he said, already backing away. "Emergency at the warehouse. A shipment issue."

"On our anniversary?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, Maya. I have to handle this. I'll make it up to you."

He kissed the top of my head and rushed out the door.

I watched him go.

As he fumbled with his keys, his phone screen lit up again.

It wasn't a warehouse alert.

It was a contact photo. Ava.

The door slammed.

I stood in the silence of the "romantic night" he had promised.

He didn't come back.

He didn't call. He didn't text.

I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the tears, but they wouldn't come.

Instead, I felt a dull, cramping pain in my lower abdomen.

A wave of nausea rolled over me.

I ran to the bathroom and retched into the sink until there was nothing left.

I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was ghostly pale, my eyes hollow.

The next morning, I drove myself to the hospital.

I sat in the cold waiting room, surrounded by couples holding hands.

I felt utterly invisible.

The doctor called my name.

She was kind. She smiled as she looked at my chart.

"Well, Mrs. Goldstein," she said. "We have some news."

She handed me a piece of paper.

"Congratulations. You're pregnant."

The world stopped.

The humming of the air conditioner faded into a deafening silence.

I stared at the word. *Positive*.

I felt the bile rise again.

A baby.

Liam's baby.

Yesterday, this would have been a miracle.

Today, it felt like a sentence.

I thought of the ultrasound photo in the box. Ava's baby.

"Mrs. Goldstein? Are you okay?" the doctor asked.

I crumpled the paper in my hand.

"I'm fine," I whispered.

I walked out of the hospital into the blinding sunlight.

I drove home, my hand resting on my flat stomach.

A life. A tiny heartbeat.

I walked into the house and went straight to the bedroom.

I opened the closet door and pulled out the suitcase I had hidden in the back.

I started packing. Not his gifts. My clothes.

I emptied my drawers.

I left the closet door open.

His side was full of suits and shirts.

My side was barren.

I looked at myself in the full-length mirror.

"You have to be strong," I told my reflection.

But my voice shook.

I touched my stomach again.

This baby wasn't a bridge to fix us. It was the wreckage left behind.