Chapter 2

The drive home was a blur of streetlights and a roaring in my ears.

My hands shook on the steering wheel.

Each breath felt like swallowing glass.

The house was quiet when I pulled into the driveway, lights soft in the downstairs windows.

Our home.

The home I' d made for him, kept for him.

Bought with the inheritance from my grandmother, a safe haven for his fragile mind.

I walked in, my boots loud on the hardwood floor.

Jax was on the couch, my mother' s Martin leaning against the stand beside him.

He looked up, a flicker of surprise, then his usual guarded expression settled.

"You're home early."

No guilt. No shame. Just... Jax.

"Her session run long?" I asked, my voice tight.

He frowned. "Whose session?"

"Dr. Croft's. Your very important, very in-person therapy session."

A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"Melody stopped by. We were working on something. A new song."

He said it so casually, like it was nothing.

Like my world hadn' t just shattered on a tiny phone screen.

"A new song," I repeated, hollow. "The one you kissed her over?"

His eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't, Jax. Don't you dare lie to me. I saw you. On the security camera."

For a second, just a second, panic flashed in his eyes.

The same panic I' d seen seven years ago, when the muddy water of the Harpeth River closed over our car.

The flash flood had come out of nowhere, turning the road into a raging torrent.

He' d fought the door open, dragged me out just as the car was pulled under.

He saved me.

But he' d gotten trapped himself, pinned against a tree, water rising, for what felt like an eternity before help came.

That day, Jackson Pierce, the confident songwriter, drowned.

And Jax, the agoraphobic, anxiety-ridden man I married, was born.

I married him because I loved him, yes.

But also because he' d saved my life. I owed him. I thought I could save him back.

His panic now was different. Colder.

"You were spying on me?" he accused, his voice rising.

"Spying? I was checking to see if you were okay, Jax! Like I always do!"

"Melody understands my creative process," he said, deflecting. "She gets it. You just... you stress me out, Sally-Lynn. You always have."

The words hit like a physical blow.

"I stress you out?" My voice cracked. "I gave up everything for you! My band, my music..."

"And you never let me forget it," he snapped.

"That guitar," I said, pointing to my mother' s Martin. "You gave her my mother's guitar?"

He shrugged, a dismissive, cruel gesture.

"It was just sitting there. She liked it. It' s just an old guitar."

"It was my mother's," I choked out. "The one you said was junk. The one you smashed my Fender over when you had one of your 'episodes' because I asked you to listen to one of my songs."

The memory was vivid: the splintered wood, my heartbroken tears, his blank stare afterwards.

"That' s not fair, Sally. My anxiety... you know how it is."

"I know you' re having an affair, Jax! With your therapist! In our house! With my mother' s guitar as a goddamn prop!"

My voice was raw, shaking.

He stood up, his face hard.

"It' s not an affair. Melody is... an inspiration. Something you haven' t been for a long time."

"So that' s it? All those years, me taking care of you, writing with you, for you, uncredited... that was me being uninspiring?"

"She helps me write. The song... it' s the best thing I' ve done in years."

He was proud. Proud of betraying me.

He stepped closer, his eyes cold.

"Maybe if you weren't so clingy, so needy, I wouldn't need to find inspiration elsewhere."

The gaslighting was so complete, so practiced.

For a moment, I almost doubted what I' d seen.

But the image of their kiss, of her hand on his arm, was burned into my mind.

"You' re a liar, Jax. And a cheat."

He flinched, then his face hardened again.

"Melody gets me. She doesn't pressure me. She doesn't make me feel like a failure."

The devastation was a cold, heavy thing in my chest.

He wasn't just making excuses. He believed it.

In his mind, I was the villain.

She was the muse.

And I was just... in the way.