Chapter 2

The next day, I pretended to be asleep when Nicole came in. I needed to hear more. I needed to understand the depths of this betrayal.

She was talking to the same doctor, her voice a low, conspiratorial whisper.

"While he' s under for the skin grafts, I want you to perform a vasectomy."

The doctor sounded hesitant. "Mrs. Clark, that' s highly irregular. We' d need his consent..."

"He' s not in a position to consent, is he?" she snapped. "Just list it as a necessary procedure due to pelvic trauma from the accident. I' ll sign whatever you need."

Her sigh was heavy with fake weariness. "Honestly, doctor, the abortions were so inconvenient. Two of them. It took a toll on my body. I need to be healthy. For when I' m ready to carry Matthew' s child."

My blood ran cold. The children. Our children. She' d told me they were miscarriages, ectopic pregnancies, medical necessities. She had cried in my arms.

Now, I knew. She hadn' t been crying for our lost babies. She had been annoyed by the inconvenience.

Later, she put on her show for me. The devoted wife.

"Oh, Ethan, my love," she cooed, stroking my hair with a hand that felt like a spider. "Don' t you worry. I' ll be your skin. I' ll be your wheelchair. I' ll take care of you forever."

She brought me soup. A rich, homemade broth. But as she ladled it into a bowl for me, I saw her carefully setting aside the largest pieces of chicken and vegetables into a separate, high-end thermal container.

"This is for you, darling," she said, handing me the watery remains. "The rest... it' s for a friend who' s feeling under the weather."

My stomach churned. I knew who the friend was.

A moment later, her phone buzzed. A special, chirping tone I' d never heard before. Her face lit up. She snatched the phone, read the text, and jumped to her feet.

"I have to go, Ethan. An emergency."

In her haste, she knocked the bowl of soup. Hot liquid splashed across the fresh dressings on my arm, the pain a white-hot flash. I cried out.

She didn' t even look back. She was already out the door, the container of Matthew' s soup clutched in her hand.

I lay there, burning from the outside in and the inside out. My own phone, the secret one, buzzed on the nightstand.

It was a video. From an unknown number.

My thumb, shaking, pressed play.

It was Nicole. And Matthew Blakely. They were in what looked like a luxury apartment, wrapped in each other' s arms. He kissed her, a deep, possessive kiss that she returned with a hunger I had never seen.

A text followed immediately after.

"Did you really think she married you for love, you pathetic actor? I have a family history of polycystic kidney disease. Nicole knew. She' s been 'raising' you for five years. The perfect diet, the no-smoking rules, the vitamins... she wasn' t keeping you healthy for you. She was preserving the spare parts for me."

My world didn' t just crack. It ceased to exist.

When my father called back from Texas, his voice a lifeline in the darkness, I didn' t hesitate.

"Get me out of here," I rasped. "Please. Get me home."