Chapter 1

The day my life ended, the air smelled of antiseptic and expensive floral arrangements.

Reporters swarmed the hospital entrance, their cameras flashing like a violent, silent storm. They were vultures, and my husband, District Attorney Ethan Scott, was the lion they were circling.

"DA Scott, can you give us a statement?"

"How are you feeling after the accident?"

Ethan, his head bandaged for dramatic effect, leaned on his campaign manager. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were deliberately vacant. He scanned the crowd, his gaze sliding right over me and our five-year-old son, Leo, as if we were strangers.

Then his eyes locked on someone else.

"Sabrina?" he whispered, his voice raspy and filled with a manufactured vulnerability that made my stomach turn.

Sabrina Todd, his high school sweetheart and the daughter of the man whose endorsement could make him governor, pushed through the crowd. Her expression was a perfect mask of worried love.

"Ethan, oh, Ethan, you remember me," she cried, throwing her arms around him.

He held her, burying his face in her hair. "I only remember you," he said, loud enough for every microphone to catch. "Everything after... it's all gone."

He had faked amnesia.

The car crash was a stage, and this was the opening scene of his play. A play where I, Jocelyn Fuller, his wife of seven years, was being written out of the script. Leo, our son, was being erased.

The press went wild. DA Suffers Tragic Amnesia After Horrific Crash, Only Remembers First Love. The headlines were already writing themselves.

I stood there, clutching Leo's small hand, my heart turning to a block of ice. Ethan hadn't even looked at his own son. He didn't just forget us; he disowned us in front of the entire world.

Sabrina led him away, shooting me a look of pure, triumphant cruelty over her shoulder.

That night, they came home. To my home.

Ethan' s campaign manager, a slick man named David, sat me down in my own living room.

"Jocelyn, this is a delicate situation," he said, his tone condescending. "Ethan's doctors say we can't risk shocking his system. For now, you and Leo will need to... adjust. He thinks Sabrina is his partner. You'll stay on as a household staff member. For appearances."

"A staff member?" The words felt like ash in my mouth.

"It's for the best. For his career."

I looked from his emotionless face to the staircase, where Sabrina was directing movers to take my things out of the master bedroom. My husband had demoted me. In my own home, I was now the help.

Leo was sent to a small guest room in the back of the house. He was confused.

"Mommy, why is that lady in your room? Why doesn't Daddy talk to me?"

I had no answers for him. All I could do was hold him and lie. "Daddy's just sick, baby. He'll get better."

But I knew he wouldn't. This wasn't a sickness. It was a strategy.

The next day, the bullying started. At his preschool, the other kids called Leo a "bastard." They said his dad had a new, real family now. My son, once so bright and happy, came home with his eyes full of tears and his spirit shrinking.

Ethan saw it. He saw the bruises on Leo's arms from being pushed around. He saw the sadness in his eyes.

And he did nothing.

He walked past his own child as if he were a piece of furniture, his attention solely on Sabrina and the endless stream of political allies who came to the house to witness his "tragic" story.

I served them coffee. I cleaned up their plates. I watched Sabrina wear my clothes, sleep in my bed, and live my life.

And with every passing day, the woman I used to be-the sharp, idealistic daughter of Senator Fuller-died a little more. She was being replaced by a hollow shell, an automaton who cooked and cleaned and watched her world burn down around her.