Chapter 2

The bus ride to Philadelphia was long. Leo was restless, complaining.

I held his small hand, my mind a whirlwind of past and future.

City Hall was a grand, old building, imposing and indifferent.

I remembered the news reports from my previous life: Mark Bishop, the hero firefighter from Oakhaven, whose tragic death spurred calls for better funding. All a lie.

Today, a press conference was scheduled. About firefighter funding, ironically.

Perfect.

I told Leo to wait with a kind-looking woman near the entrance, promising him a pretzel later.

Then I walked towards the throng of reporters and city officials.

As a councilman droned on about budget allocations, I pushed my way forward.

"What about Mark Bishop?" I shouted, my voice trembling, but loud enough to carry.

Heads turned. Cameras flashed.

"My husband, Mark Bishop, died a hero last year! What benefits has this city provided for his son? For me?"

I let tears stream down my face, playing the desperate widow.

"He died because of your negligence! Unsafe warehouses! Not enough funding!"

The councilman looked flustered. Aides scurried.

And then I saw him.

Standing at the edge of the official group, looking prosperous in a tailored suit.

Mark.

Beside him, Amelia Hayes, chic and professional, holding a clipboard, whispering to a man who looked important. She was posing as an aide.

My heart hammered, a mix of cold dread and burning rage.

Mark's eyes met mine. For a split second, I saw shock, then a quick mask of concern.

He stepped forward, smooth and confident.

"Ma'am, please," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy, loud enough for the reporters.

"I knew Mark. A good man. This is Chloe, his... his wife from Oakhaven. She's obviously overwrought. Grieving."

He turned to the crowd. "A tragic situation. I've tried to help her, but she's... unstable."

Gaslighting. Already. In public.

Amelia watched, her expression carefully neutral, but I saw the flicker of triumph in her eyes.

They thought I was just a hysterical small-town woman they could easily dismiss.

They were wrong.

Security guards were moving towards me.

Mark put a hand on my arm, his grip surprisingly strong.

"Let me handle this," he said to the officials, his voice a stage whisper. "I'll take care of her."

He was trying to control the narrative, to silence me before I could do more damage.

He steered me away from the cameras, Amelia following a few steps behind, her eyes cold.

Leo, forgotten by the entrance, started to cry, confused by the commotion.

Mark shot him an annoyed glance.

"We need to get you somewhere quiet, Chloe," Mark said, his voice low and menacing now that the public wasn't listening. "You're making a scene."

He was going to isolate me. Just like before.

Mark didn't take me to a hotel, or even a decent boarding house.

He drove us to a run-down part of the city, to a grimy apartment building he apparently owned.

"You and Leo can stay here," he said, unlocking a door to a cramped, filthy two-room flat. "It's all I can offer right now. Things are tight."

Liar. I'd seen his expensive suit, Amelia's designer bag.

He was punishing me, trying to break me with squalor.

Leo looked around the depressing rooms and started to whimper.

"This is temporary," Mark said, ruffling Leo's hair with false affection. "Until your mom calms down."

I said nothing. I needed to play along, for now.

My first priority was to establish legal facts.

The next day, I took a bus to the county clerk's office. I would file for divorce.

Not because I wanted one, but to prove our marriage existed, to prove his abandonment.

The clerk, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes, took my information.

She tapped at her computer, then frowned.

"Chloe Davis, married to Mark Bishop? I have your Oakhaven certificate here, but... there's a problem."

"A problem?"

"According to our records, this marriage certificate," she tapped the screen, "appears to be a forgery."