Chapter 3

The framing began subtly.

Izzy started"finding" things.

"Mark, darling, look what I found. Ethan had an open bottle of your prescription sleeping pills. He said Chloe left them on the nightstand."

A lie. I kept all medications locked away, especially Mark's. He was careless with them.

Mark, of course, believed Izzy.

"Chloe, what the hell? Are you trying to get him hurt?"

My denials were met with his stony silence.

Then came Izzy's staged fall.

I was in the kitchen, trying to ignore Izzy's constant stream of criticisms about my (or rather, the housekeeper's) cooking.

She"tripped" over a rug, letting out a theatrical scream, clutching her ankle.

"She pushed me!"Izzy cried, tears welling in her eyes as Mark rushed in."We were arguing, and she just... pushed me!"

"I didn't touch her!"I said, my voice rising despite myself.

Mark helped Izzy to a chair, his face a mask of fury directed at me.

"Are you insane, Chloe? First the pills, now this? You're becoming a danger."

He didn't even ask for my side. He'd already judged me.

"I think Eleanor is right, "Mark said later that night, his voice cold."You need help. Professional help. I'm looking into clinics."

The walls were closing in.

My contact with Liam intensified. Encrypted messages, short, furtive calls when I was alone.

He was my lifeline.

"The plan is set, Chloe. I have everything arranged. Just say the word."

I clutched the burner phone. The word was"soon."

The music box. Ethan hadn't just broken it. Izzy had taken the largest piece, the one with the faded roses my grandfather had painted, and used it to prop open a window in the guest room she'd claimed.

I found it, dirt-stained and further cracked.

A piece of my heart broke with it.

That night, Mark tried to be intimate. A transactional, almost perfunctory gesture.

"We need to show a united front, Chloe. For Ethan. For appearances."

His touch felt like ice.

I remembered years ago, after a particularly vicious argument where Eleanor had called me barren because I hadn't conceived quickly enough.

Mark had taken me to a fertility specialist, one Eleanor recommended.

The doctor had been cold, invasive. He'd spoken about my"deficiencies."

Later, I found out Eleanor had instructed him to tell Mark I was likely infertile, to push Mark towards ending the marriage.

Mark had, for a brief time, seemed to believe until Ethan was conceived.

Now, as Mark reached for me, I pulled away.

"No, Mark."

He frowned."What's wrong with you now?"

"I'm tired," I said, turning my back to him.

I thought of the baby growing inside me, Liam's child. A secret defiance.

Mark continued to blame me for everything. For Ethan's moods, for Izzy's"discomfort, " for the tension in the house.

"If you just tried harder, Chloe. If you were just more like... Izzy."

I stopped trying. I stopped making his breakfast. I stopped ensuring his dry cleaning was picked up.

Small acts of passive resistance. He noticed. He fumed.

Izzy, meanwhile, curated their perfect family image on social media.

Photos of her, Mark, and Ethan at exclusive clubs, at polo matches, beaming.

#FamilyGoals #BostonElite #Blessed.

The comments were fawning."You three look so happy!" "Izzy, you're a natural mother!"

It was a public performance, designed to erase me.

Sometimes, I'd see a flicker of discomfort in Mark's eyes in those photos, a hint that even he knew this was a charade.

The posts would sometimes be deleted quickly, only to be replaced by new, even more saccharine ones.

One morning, I felt a wave of nausea. Morning sickness.

I rushed to the bathroom.

Mark stood in the doorway when I emerged, his arms crossed.

"Hungover again, Chloe? What is it this time? Sneaking wine in your room?"

"I'm not hungover, "I said, my voice calm.

He didn't believe me. He never did.

The final act of Izzy's play was about to begin.

She chose the annual Harrison Foundation charity gala. A very public stage.

She wore a stunning red dress, one I'd seen in her closet, knowing she'd bought it specifically for this.

During Mark's speech, Izzy stood near the edge of the small, raised platform.

As I walked by, heading towards the restrooms, she let out a piercing scream and tumbled dramatically to the floor.

"My arm! Chloe, you pushed me!" she shrieked, cradling her arm.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. All eyes were on me.