Chapter 2

Ethan burned through seven of those chances in less than a month.

Chance number one: He drained our joint emergency fund, half a million dollars, to buy the indie coffee shop where Molly worked. He told me it was a "diversification of assets." I knew it was just an excuse to see her every day.

Chance number two: He took the anniversary necklace he was supposed to give me-a custom piece from Cartier-and gave it to her. I saw it on her Instagram story, with the caption, "Some things are just gifts from the universe. #unimpressed."

Chance number three: He replaced the lock screen photo on his phone. For ten years, it had been a picture of us at our wedding in Tuscany. Now, it was a candid shot of Molly, laughing as she frothed milk behind the counter of his coffee shop.

He didn't even try to hide it.

Then one night, he came home smelling of expensive whiskey and fake remorse. He sat on the edge of our bed, his face a mask of sincerity.

"Elyse," he said, his voice soft. "I've been a fool. I've been thinking... we're not getting any younger. It's time."

I stared at him, my heart a tight, painful knot in my chest.

"It's time to have the child we always talked about," he continued, taking my hand. His touch felt foreign. "Let's start IVF. Immediately."

Hope is a stupid, stubborn thing. A small, foolish part of me wanted to believe him. Maybe this was it. Maybe he finally realized what he was about to lose.

"Are you sure, Ethan?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"I've never been more sure of anything," he said, his eyes locking onto mine. "You're my wife, Elyse. It's always been you."

The next week was a blur of appointments and hormone injections. I felt bloated, emotional, and sick. But I held onto his words.

The day of the egg retrieval, they put me in a private room. The nurse gave me a sedative, and the world started to feel fuzzy and distant.

As my eyes began to close, I heard Ethan step out into the hallway to take a call. His voice was low, but the sound carried.

"It's done. She's going under now."

A pause.

"Don't worry," he said, and I could hear the smug satisfaction in his tone. "Once Elyse is pregnant, Molly will have to accept that she can't raise a child alone. She'll see there's no other way. She'll have no choice but to move in and let me take care of her and our baby. This secures everything."

The last thing I felt before the darkness took over was not the prick of the IV needle, but the complete and utter death of that stupid, stubborn hope.