Chapter 1

The HR director' s words still echoed in my head.

"Ethan, we're placing you on administrative leave."

Forced leave.

Because I' d finally confronted Cassie.

About David Miller.

Her "grieving" colleague.

The one who monopolized her time, her sympathy.

The one whose son, Sammy, always seemed to be conveniently ill.

Cassie hadn' t liked the confrontation.

Not one bit.

She' d twisted it, run to my company, her voice dripping with false outrage.

"Harassment," she' d called it.

She had connections, of course.

Her job as a project liaison for a government funding agency gave her that.

This was the last straw.

The absolute end.

I picked up the phone.

General Armstrong' s private line.

He' d offered me a position months ago.

Project Skybolt. Top secret. Rocket Ridge, Nevada.

A way out. A way up.

I' d hesitated then. For Cassie.

No more.

"General Armstrong," I said, my voice steady.

"Ethan. Good to hear from you. What can I do for you?"

His voice was gruff, familiar.

He' d been my superior at the NASA contractor years ago.

"Sir, about that offer for Project Skybolt..."

"Still open, son. Always will be for a man of your talents."

"I'll take it."

A pause on the line.

"Something happen, Ethan?"

"Yes, sir. I' m also filing for divorce."

I could almost hear him nod.

"I see. Can' t say I' m entirely surprised, Ethan. We all saw how much you sidelined your own ambitions for her."

He wasn't just talking about Skybolt.

He meant the promotions I' d passed on, the papers I hadn' t published, the late nights I' d avoided at the lab.

All for Cassie.

To support her career, her image.

"She' s made her choices, General. Now I' m making mine."

My voice was flat. Devoid of the storm raging inside me.

"Understood. I' ll get the paperwork started. You can be in Nevada within the month. Sooner, if you need."

"Sooner is better, sir."

"Consider it done."

I hung up.

A strange lightness filled me.

The first clean breath I' d taken in months.

Maybe years.

A few days later, I was running errands.

Trying to keep my mind off the leave, off Cassie, off everything.

I drove past Willow Creek Park.

And there they were.

Cassie. David. Little Sammy.

A perfect little family tableau.

Cassie was fussing over Sammy, wiping his face with a napkin, her expression soft, adoring.

A tenderness I hadn' t seen directed at me in a long, long time.

David Miller leaned into her, his arm brushing hers, his face a mask of weary gratitude.

The grieving widower.

Sammy, supposedly prone to every childhood ailment known to man, was laughing, chasing a squirrel.

He looked perfectly healthy to me.

My gut clenched.

She was comforting his son with a warmth she denied me, her own husband.

When I' d been sick with the flu last winter, she' d barely managed a cup of tea.

Too busy with a "critical deadline."

Or maybe too busy with David even then.

I saw David murmur something to Cassie.

She laughed, a light, carefree sound that twisted something inside me.

He put his hand on her back, a casual, possessive gesture.

I drove away before I did something I' d regret.

The image burned into my mind.

Her easy affection for them.

Her cold dismissal of me.

It just solidified my resolve.

This divorce couldn't happen fast enough.

I got back to the house. Our house.

For now.

Cassie was already there, back from a short work trip she' d "absolutely couldn't miss."

Her suitcase stood in the hall.

She was on the phone, her voice low, concerned.

"Oh, David, that' s terrible. A fever? Poor Sammy. Of course, I' ll come right over."

She hung up, grabbing her purse.

"Ethan, I need to go. Sammy' s sick again."

"Cassie, we need to talk."

My voice was quiet, but firm.

"Not now, Ethan. David needs me."

She was already halfway out the door.

"It' s always David, isn' t it?"

She stopped, turned.

Her eyes narrowed.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I want a divorce, Cassie."

She scoffed. A short, ugly sound.

"Don' t be ridiculous. You' re just jealous. And you' re being incredibly unsupportive. David is a friend. He' s a widower. He needs help."

"And I' m your husband. Or I was."

"We can talk about this later. When you' re being more reasonable."

She turned to leave again.

"There' s nothing to talk about, Cassie. It' s over."

She didn' t even look back.

The front door slammed shut.

Leaving me in the silence of a home that no longer felt like mine.

Her voice, as she' d spoken to David, had been honeyed, full of concern.

The voice she used for me now was sharp, irritated.

Like I was an annoying fly she wanted to swat away.

She was angry I' d been put on leave.

"Your temper, Ethan! It' s going to ruin your career!" she' d shrieked after HR called her.

As if my "temper" wasn' t a direct result of her blatant affair.

"My temper? I confronted you about your inappropriate behavior with David. That' s why HR got involved, because you twisted it!"

"David is grieving! He needs support! You' re cold, Ethan, and unfeeling!"

That was her defense.

Always.

"So, divorce me," I said again, my voice low.

"Never! You think I' d let you ruin my image? We' re a team, Ethan. You just need to get over this phase."

"I am over it, Cassie. I' m over you. You can have David. You clearly prefer his company."

"There' s nothing going on with David! You' re being paranoid!"

Just then, her phone rang again.

David' s name flashed on the screen.

His voice was a frantic whisper on the speakerphone she' d forgotten to disable in her haste.

"Cassie, thank God. Sammy' s having a night terror. He' s screaming for you. Please, can you come?"