Chapter 1

The email arrived on a Tuesday, a week after Leo was born.

It was addressed to "Ms. Sarah Connelly, parent of Maya."

Connelly was my maiden name, the name I still used for my illustration work.

My parents, both archaeologists, had died in a rockslide at a dig site two years ago, on this very week.

The grief was still a raw, open wound.

Leo, my son with Mark, was asleep in his bassinet beside me.

Mark, my husband, was an architect at a big firm.

The email was a welcome message from the parent coordinator of the North End Charter School, the best in our historic Boston neighborhood.

I stared at it, confused. Maya? Who was Maya?

I clicked on the forwarded chain. The original request to enroll Maya, using my address and a utility bill in my name, came from Mark.

He hadn't said a word.

My house, the Victorian I inherited from my parents, was the key to this school zone.

Brenda, Mark's colleague, an interior designer, had just moved into a rental down the street. She was recently divorced, with a young daughter. Maya.

The pieces clicked. Cold anger spread through me.

I waited until Mark came home from work.

Leo was fussy, and I was tired, still sore from the birth.

"Mark," I said, holding up my phone. "What is this?"

He glanced at it, then waved a dismissive hand.

"Oh, that. Brenda needed help. Maya's a great kid, deserves a good school."

"Using my name? My address? Without asking me?"

"It's no big deal, Sarah. Leo's an infant, he won't need a school spot for years. I was just helping out Brenda. She's a struggling single mom, and she's vital to my team at work. Plus, she' s our neighbor now."

His voice was casual, like he was discussing the weather.

"A struggling single mom who somehow affords a rental in this neighborhood?"

"She got a good deal. Look, don't make a mountain out of a molehill."

"You used my identity, Mark. That's fraud."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Don't be so dramatic. It's just a school spot."

The baby started crying. Mark didn't move.

I picked Leo up, my body aching, my heart colder than the Boston wind outside.

"It's my house, Mark. My name."

"And you're my wife," he said, his tone hardening. "We're a team, remember? Or is that just when it suits you?"