I dragged myself up using the nightstand. My shoulder throbbed where I had hit the wall, but the physical pain was a mercy, a distraction from the fact that my heart had just stopped beating.

He had shoved me. To protect her.

I walked to the mirror. I looked like a corpse already. Pale skin, dark circles, collarbones protruding like coat hangers. How did he not see it? How did he look at this skeletal version of his wife and see only "jealousy"?

The answer was simple: because he stopped looking at me a long time ago.

I changed into a black dress. I applied makeup to hide the yellow tint of my skin. I had errands to run.

I walked out the side door. The guards let me pass; they didn't care where the barren wife went, so long as I wasn't in the way.

I went to a photo studio downtown. I needed a portrait. A final image for the funeral service, so people would remember Elena, not the ghost I had become.

The photographer was kind. He told me to smile. I tried, but the expression didn't reach my eyes.

As I was picking up the proofs an hour later, the bell above the door chimed.

Dante walked in. He was holding Sienna's hand.

They froze. I froze.

Of all the places in the city, fate had to choose this one, I thought bitterly.

"Are you following us?" Dante asked. His voice was low, dangerous. "We are here for a maternity shoot."

I clutched the large envelope to my chest. "No. I'm leaving."

Sienna stepped forward. She looked glowing. Pregnant. Victorious. She saw the logo on my envelope.

"Modeling photos, Elena?" She laughed. "A bit late for a career change, isn't it? You look... tired."

She reached out and snatched the envelope before I could react.

"Give it back," I said, panic rising in my throat.

Dante stepped between us, blocking me. "What is it? Evidence? Are you documenting us?"

He grabbed my wrist. His grip was iron. It hurt.

"Show me," he demanded.

Sienna ripped the envelope open. She pulled out the 8x10 photo.

It was black and white. Me, in a black dress, looking serene and final. It was unmistakably a memorial portrait.

Sienna's smile faltered for a second, then twisted into something cruel.

"Oh my god," she said, feigning shock. "Is this a suicide threat? Dante, look. She's planning something to ruin the baby's arrival. She wants attention."

Dante looked at the photo, then at me. He looked unsettled, haunted even, but he quickly masked it with anger.

"Is this your leverage?" he asked. "You threaten to kill yourself? You think that will make me come back?"

I snatched the photo back. The frame shattered on the floor. Glass scattered everywhere.

"I just want to see you regret this," I whispered.

Dante sneered. He kicked a piece of the broken frame away.

"If you want to die, Elena, then die. Stop threatening it. It's pathetic."

He turned his back on me. "Come, Sienna. We'll find another studio. This one smells like desperation."

I watched them leave. My legs gave out. I collapsed onto the floor, amidst the broken glass and the black-and-white face of a woman who was already gone.

A stranger, a woman waiting for her passport photos, ran over to help me.

"He doesn't love you anymore, honey," she whispered, helping me up.

I pushed her away. I didn't need a stranger to tell me the news.

I walked out onto the street. It was raining. I didn't open my umbrella. I just walked.

I took two painkillers from my purse and swallowed them dry.

Dante used to beg me to take aspirin when I had a headache. He used to kiss my forehead and bring me water.

Now he had told me to hurry up and die.

Chapter 4

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