Chapter 2

The memory hit me hard, walking back to my empty car.

Vicky, a few weeks ago, her face smooth, unreadable.

"Ethan, I want a divorce."

"I'm tired of this life," she'd said.

Tired of what? Me? Liam? My quiet life teaching history?

At the time, I didn't believe her, not really. We had problems, sure, but divorce?

Now, her words from the festival stage replayed, sharp and clear. "Before I made certain life choices."

Me. I was the certain life choice she regretted.

I remembered her being distant lately, always "out of town" for work.

Lies. All of it.

At home, the silence was deafening.

I found one of her old college yearbooks tucked away on a high shelf.

Flipping through it, I saw her. Younger, brighter.

And always, always with Dylan.

Her arm around his waist, laughing, a real, unguarded laugh I hadn' t heard in years.

She looked happy with him, truly happy.

A happiness she never showed with me, not anymore.

My chest ached. I' d been so blind. Or maybe I just hadn't wanted to see.

My phone buzzed again. Vicky.

I let it ring. What could she possibly say?

The call went to voicemail.

A text popped up immediately. "Ethan, pick up! We need to talk!"

I stared at it. "We" needed to talk?

No. She needed to explain. And I didn't need to listen anymore.

The realization settled in, cold and heavy.

Our marriage wasn't just strained; it was a sham, at least for her.

Her priorities were clear: her career, her past, Dylan.

Not me. Not Liam.

I felt a wave of despair, so strong it buckled my knees.

I sank onto the couch, the yearbook falling open on the floor.

Vicky and Dylan, smiling up at me.