Chapter 3

Later that evening, Mark called.

He didn' t apologize.

"People are talking, Sarah! Someone posted on the neighborhood forum, anonymous, saying Brenda' s a home-wrecker, that she' s trying to trap a married man. They' re shunning her at community events! Did you do that?"

I was in bed, Leo asleep beside me, Isabelle quietly reading in a chair. I had a pounding headache.

"No, Mark, I didn' t. I' ve been here, with our son."

My voice was hoarse. I coughed.

His tone abruptly softened. "Are you okay? You sound terrible."

"I think I'm getting sick."

He was quiet for a moment. "I'll be home soon."

The next day, Mark stayed home from work.

He tended to me. I had a fever. He took care of Leo, surprisingly competent.

In the afternoon, he presented me with a beautifully wrapped package.

It was a first-edition illustrated copy of "The Little Prince," a book I' d longed for.

"My assistant sourced it from a rare book dealer in London," he said, his voice gentle. "It just arrived."

I looked at him, at our intertwined wedding rings on my finger. I remembered the good years, the deep connection we' d once shared.

I was worn down, exhausted from new motherhood, the grief, the fighting.

Touched by his attentiveness, by the thoughtful gift, I cautiously accepted his apology.

"This is it, Mark," I warned, my voice weak but firm. "Your absolute final chance. No more Brenda. No more lies."

He nodded, his eyes sincere. "I understand. I swear."

A few nights later, my phone rang. It was Mark' s number, but it was Brenda on the line, hysterical.

No, Mark was next to her, I could hear him. She was crying loudly.

"Mark, what' s wrong?" I asked, an uneasy feeling creeping over me.

He sounded agitated. "It's Brenda. She's been doxxed. Her address, phone number, fake stories about her being a predator, all spread online. Her freelance contract with the Chandler Group? Terminated. Her landlord is threatening eviction, citing moral turpitude complaints from neighbors."

"And this is my problem how?" I asked, my voice flat.

"She's falling apart, Sarah! She has nowhere to go. I have to help her."

"Mark," I said, my voice dangerously low. "If you walk out that door to help Brenda, this marriage is over. I mean it."

He hesitated. I could hear Brenda sobbing dramatically in the background.

"I have to, Sarah. She' s my friend, my colleague. She has a child."

Then, I heard his footsteps, the front door opening and closing.

He left. He chose her. Again.