Chapter 2

The numbness in my hand was a cold, creeping thing, a constant reminder of the violation. The tremor was worse. It was a visible sign of my ruin, a taunt from my own body.

I found Ethan back at our apartment, calmly pouring himself a whiskey as if nothing had happened.

"We' re done, Ethan," I said, my voice shaking with a rage so profound it scared me. "This is over. And you' re going to pay. For the surgery, for the physical therapy, for every single concert I will ever miss because of what you did."

He finally turned to look at me, his expression one of pure arrogance.

"After eight years? You' re leaving me?" He laughed, a short, ugly sound. "Who else would want someone from your background? You' re nothing without me, Jocelyn. I saved you. Don' t you ever forget that."

His words were meant to cripple me, to remind me of the broken, scared girl he' d found in a foster home that smelled of neglect. The girl whose foster parents cashed state checks and barely fed her. For a long time, he was my white knight. Now I saw he was just another kind of cage.

"I' d rather be nothing on my own than be your accessory," I shot back, turning to our bedroom to pack my things.

He followed me, his anger escalating.

"You ungrateful bitch! I gave you a life you could only dream of!"

I ignored him, pulling my suitcase from the closet. I threw my clothes in, my movements clumsy and frantic. My cello case was on the floor by the bed.

He grabbed my arm, spinning me around. "You are not leaving!"

I tried to pull away, and he shoved me. Hard. My feet tangled, and I fell backward, the back of my head cracking against the hard edge of my cello case.

The room spun. A sharp pain exploded behind my eyes, and a wave of nausea washed over me. I lay there, dizzy and disoriented, the world tilting around me.

Ethan' s phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, and his entire demeanor shifted. His anger vanished, replaced by a look of concern.

"Molly? What' s wrong?"

I could hear her faint, panicked voice through the phone. She was faking a "post-surgical complication." A performance for an audience of one.

Ethan looked down at me on the floor, my head throbbing, my vision blurring.

"Walk it off," he said, his voice cold and distant. "Molly needs me."

He turned and walked out, leaving me on the floor, the echo of his footsteps a final, brutal confirmation of my place in his life. I was disposable.