Chapter 1

The scent of lilies at the annual company charity gala hit me first. Then my throat closed.

I gasped for air, clutching my chest, but Michael didn't see. He was on the dance floor, spinning Jessica Hayes, his intern, in a tight circle.

Even as I stumbled, vision blurring, he kept her close, whispering in her ear. They laughed.

Later, in his car, I fumbled in the glove compartment for my emergency inhaler. My fingers brushed against a velvet box.

Inside, a diamond necklace glittered. Not my style.

Before I could ask, Michael snatched it.

"That's not for you," he said, his voice cold.

I nodded slowly.

"Pull over there," I said, pointing to the high-end bridal boutique on the next block. "The one where we ordered the dress."

The Vera Wang gown I'd picked out. It was time to cancel it.

I walked into the boutique. Michael followed, his footsteps heavy behind me.

He threw a silk Hermès scarf at my face. "Sarah, can you stop being so damn forgetful?"

Michael was a neat freak. He hated anything of mine left in his car.

I looked at the scarf on the floor. "It's not mine."

His expression softened. He picked it up, almost reverently, folding it with care.

I knew it was Jessica's. She often "forgot" things, sparking fights between Michael and me.

This time, I said nothing.

I turned to the sales associate. "I'm here to cancel an order. Sarah Miller."

The associate smiled. "Ms. Miller, Mr. Vance, perfect timing! Your gown and custom suit are ready for a final fitting."

Before I could refuse, Michael, still annoyed from his earlier mistake, stalked into the fitting room.

Ten minutes later, he stood before me in his tailored suit.

He glanced at the mannequin wearing a copy of my chosen gown. "Tacky as hell."

I didn't argue. "Could you take a picture of me?" I asked the associate, gesturing to myself in my street clothes.

Michael frowned, about to pull me in for a photo with him in his suit.

His phone rang. Jessica's special ringtone.

She was crying. Her favorite "limited edition scarf" was missing. If a kind soul found it, she'd be his, forever.

Michael didn't even change. He strode out, car engine roaring to life moments later.

I looked at the pristine sample gown.

Then I asked the associate for a pair of fabric shears and cut the silk into ribbons.

Late that night, around 1 AM, my phone buzzed.

A text from Michael: [Out with clients. Drinks.]

Seven years together, and this was a rare attempt at keeping me informed.

I looked at the rubber gloves on my hands, still cleaning out the last of our shared memories. I didn't reply.

After I took out the trash, I showered and fell into bed.

Michael came home the next morning as I was heading out to walk our dog, Buster.

He stared at me. "Is your phone broken?"

I shook my head. His brow furrowed.

I knew why he asked. In the past, if he stayed out late, I'd blow up his phone with calls and texts. Last night, his phone had been silent.

As I reached the door, he asked, "Sarah, where's our photo? The one from the engagement party?"

I glanced down at the full trash bag by the curb. Before I could answer, his phone vibrated.

He brushed past me, pressing the voice-to-text button. "Don't worry, kiddo. I'll bring it over as soon as it's ready."

I heard the shower start. I continued downstairs with Buster.

Coming back up, my blood sugar crashed.

Cold sweat dripped down my back. I reached for the sandwich on the counter – one Michael had made.

I took one bite.

"Sarah, are you a starving animal?" Michael's voice, sharp with disgust, came from the bedroom doorway.

He snatched the sandwich, plate and all, and threw it into the trash can.

I stared at him. "I've cooked for you for seven years. My blood sugar is low. Can't I even have a bite of your breakfast?"

His eyes were hard. "No manners. Taking without asking is stealing."

He put on his suit jacket and slammed the door.

Another round of the silent treatment.

I picked up my phone, opened Facebook.

His cover photo was new: Michael and Jessica, her wearing cat ears, beaming at the camera.

I 'liked' it. Then I unpinned his chat from the top of my messenger.

By midday, I was meeting a realtor.

Stepping into the elevator in my office building, I ran into Michael and Jessica.

Her hair was a mess. He was gently trying to tie it back for her.

Seeing me, Jessica pouted, hands on her hips. "Sarah, you're just in time! Look at Michael. He's always pulling my hair, like a little boy. So annoying!"

Before I could speak, Michael pinched her nose playfully. "Liar, liar, pants on fire, kiddo."

Jessica blushed.

He finally looked at me. "Sarah. Since you're here, let's grab lunch."

We'd worked in the same downtown complex, different firms, for five years. He'd never once asked me to lunch.

Jessica, however, posted daily Instagram stories of her lunch dates with him.

I smiled. "You two go ahead. I have an appointment."