Chapter 3

The next morning, the doorbell chimed.

Ava wasn't expecting anyone. Marcus was already at his office.

She opened it to find Isabelle Vance standing there, a bright, false smile on her face.

"Hi! Marcus is so swamped with me, I mean, with work," Isabelle corrected herself smoothly, "that I thought I'd bring you some of these amazing pastries he had flown in from Paris. He knows how much you... well, how much I love them."

She breezed past Ava into the penthouse.

"My, what a place!" Isabelle exclaimed, though her eyes scanned it with an air of familiarity.

She began to tour the apartment, her voice a lilting commentary.

"Oh, these Georgia O'Keeffe prints," she said, pausing before a series in the hallway. "My absolute passion! He remembered. We always talked about getting these for our place."

Our place.

Ava felt a chill.

Isabelle moved through the rooms like she owned them.

In the living room, she gestured to the view. "This view of the Hudson, we always said we'd have a place looking out just like this. Sunsets here must be divine."

She ran a hand over a sculpture Marcus had bought a month ago. "He always had such an eye for my taste."

Every comment was a carefully aimed dart, confirming Ava's status as an afterthought.

Isabelle paused by the grand piano. "Does he still play that Chopin piece I taught him? The Nocturne in E-flat?"

Ava didn't answer. She felt like an intruder in her own home.

Isabelle even commented on their wedding.

"Blue hydrangeas, right? For your main floral arrangements?"

Ava nodded, numb.

"Marcus and I planned a wedding once, years ago. We were going to have blue hydrangeas everywhere. It was my idea. He always loved my ideas."

The wedding. Her wedding. Stolen from another woman's dreams.

Ava felt the floor drop out from under her.

Every cherished memory was tainted, a second-hand experience.

Marcus arrived home early, finding them in the living room.

He feigned surprise, though Ava saw a flicker of something else in his eyes.

"Izzy! What a surprise! Ava, this is Isabelle Vance, an old family friend."

Family friend. The lie was so blatant it was almost insulting.

Isabelle smiled sweetly. "Just thought I'd drop by, say hello to Ava."

She then turned to Marcus. "Darling, are you having Chef Antoine make that sea bass with lemon caper sauce tonight? You know it's my favorite."

Marcus nodded. "Of course. And the truffle risotto you love."

Ava recognized the menu. Marcus had told her Chef Antoine created it *for her* on their first anniversary.

Another lie. It was all Isabelle's preferred cuisine.

Ava felt overwhelmed. The air in the penthouse was thick with their shared history, suffocating her.

"I... I have a headache," she mumbled, needing to escape. "I think I'll go lie down."

She retreated to the bedroom, the sound of their easy laughter following her.

Later that week, Isabelle showed up again, uninvited.

Marcus was out.

"Just bringing you some of this special herbal tonic Marcus had his acupuncturist prepare," Isabelle said, holding out a thermos. "It's for... you know. To keep you strong."

Ava didn't want it.

Isabelle set it down, then looked around the nursery Ava had started to decorate.

"Thinking of names yet?" Isabelle asked casually.

Ava didn't respond.

"Marcus and I had names picked out, you know. For a boy, Julian. For a girl, Seraphina. He loved those names."

Ava's breath caught. They had discussed names. Julian had been on their short list.

The violation was profound. Even her unborn child's identity was being encroached upon.

The next incident was more direct.

Isabelle was over for tea, an arrangement Marcus had insisted upon for them to "bond."

As Isabelle handed Ava a cup of scalding tea, she "accidentally" tilted it, spilling the hot liquid down Ava's arm.

Ava cried out, pulling her arm back. It was already red.

"Oh, I'm so clumsy!" Isabelle exclaimed, her eyes wide with mock concern.

Later, as Ava walked towards the polished marble staircase leading to the lower level of the penthouse, Isabelle, following close behind, seemed to trip.

Isabelle bumped into Ava hard.

Ava, caught off balance at the very top of the stairs, stumbled.

Isabelle, however, tumbled dramatically, shrieking, down a few steps.

Marcus rushed in from his study at the sound of Isabelle's cry.

He ran straight past Ava, who was clutching her throbbing arm and trying to regain her footing, her ankle twisted painfully.

"Izzy! Are you okay?" he knelt beside Isabelle, his voice frantic with worry.

Isabelle was moaning, holding her ankle.

He glanced up at Ava, a flash of annoyance in his eyes.

Then his gaze fell to the floor near the console table.

The small, velvet-lined box Ava had left there earlier, containing the ashes, had been knocked over in the commotion.

It was open. The grey, powdery contents spilled slightly onto the marble.

Marcus stared at it, his face paling.

Ava ended up in the ER for her burned arm and sprained ankle. Isabelle was there too, for "shock" and her "twisted" ankle.

Marcus fussed over Isabelle, ignoring Ava.

The attending physician, Dr. Ramirez, was reviewing Ava's chart. She'd seen Ava for a check-up a few weeks prior.

Dr. Ramirez looked from the chart to Marcus, then to Ava.

"Mr. Thorne," the doctor began, her voice professional, "about the follow-up for Ms. Miller's D&E procedure..."

D&E. Dilatation and Evacuation. The medical term for her abortion.

Marcus froze. His head snapped towards the doctor. "Her what?"

Ava's heart leaped into her throat.

She reacted instantly, dropping her purse with a clatter. Pills, lipstick, keys scattered across the floor.

"Oh, clumsy me!" Ava cried, bending down quickly, creating a diversion.

The moment passed. The doctor looked flustered. Marcus looked confused, his attention diverted.