Chapter 2

I walked into the living room later.

My face, I hoped, was a mask of grief, not the fury and revulsion boiling inside.

"We should sort through Maya' s things," I said, my voice carefully neutral.

Jessica waved a dismissive hand towards the hallway.

"Already done. Most of it is boxed up in the spare room. We need to clear it out quickly."

She didn' t look at me.

Her eyes were on her phone.

"I just couldn' t face the funeral, Alex. You understand."

Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

The boxes. Already packed.

Like Maya was old news, a problem solved.

I went to the spare room.

Boxes, neatly taped. Labeled "Maya - Donate."

Her favorite stuffed giraffe peeked out from one.

Her crayon drawings.

Her life, reduced to discardable items.

I couldn't leave them there.

I carried the boxes, one by one, down to my car.

To the small studio apartment I' d kept since before the marriage.

My sanctuary. Ours. Maya loved it there. Our secret hideout for pancakes and cartoons.

It was a small act of defiance. A way to keep her close.

That evening, I returned to the main house to get a few of my own things.

The smell of cooking hit me.

Something rich, unfamiliar.

Jessica never cooked. Not for me, not for Maya.

In the dining room, Blake Harrison sat at our table.

Jessica was placing a plate of osso buco in front of him.

She was smiling, a genuine smile I hadn' t seen directed at me in years.

She looked... happy.