Chapter 3

I woke up to the steady, rhythmic beeping of a machine and the sterile smell of antiseptic. A doctor with kind eyes told me I had severe alcohol poisoning. He said I was lucky a passerby found me. He didn't ask where my husband was.

After they discharged me, I walked slowly down the hospital corridor, my head pounding. As I passed a private room, I heard a familiar voice. Ethan's voice.

I glanced inside. He was on one knee, holding a small, velvet box. Inside, a diamond ring glittered under the harsh fluorescent lights. He was proposing.

To a beaming Molly.

"I'll take care of you," he was saying, his voice thick with a tenderness he hadn't shown me in years. "I'll take care of you and our baby."

The baby. The words shattered the fragile composure I was holding onto. My hand flew to my flat stomach. I remembered the cold clinic, the condescending nurse, and Ethan' s voice on the phone, telling me a child would derail his career. That we couldn't afford it. That it was my responsibility to "take care of it." The memory, raw and bleeding, tore through me.

Molly saw me then. Her eyes widened for a second before a sly, cruel smile touched her lips. She looked down at the can of soda in her hand.

"Oh, no!" she cried out, "accidentally" tipping the can and spilling the sticky brown liquid all over her shirt. "My outfit! We have that photoshoot for the magazine this afternoon!"

Ethan shot to his feet, his face contorted with rage when he saw me. He didn't even ask what happened. He just stormed over to me.

"Give her your jacket," he demanded, his voice low and menacing.

I stared at him, uncomprehending. "What?"

"Your jacket," he repeated, louder this time, gesturing to the designer leather jacket I' d saved for months to buy-the centerpiece of my "rocker" persona. "Give it to her. Now."

His friends from the band had gathered in the doorway, watching. In front of all of them, he reached out, grabbed the lapels of my jacket, and started forcing it off my shoulders. I was too stunned to resist.

He pulled it free, leaving me shivering in a thin, worn-out t-shirt. He walked back to Molly and draped the jacket over her shoulders.

"See?" he said to the room, his eyes fixed on her. "Molly actually looks good in this. You," he shot a venomous look at me, "you just look like you're trying too hard."

Something inside me snapped. The last thread of hope, of love, of the girl who thought she could change for him, just broke.

I didn't say a word. I didn't cry. I walked over to an empty gurney, pulled the thin, coarse hospital blanket off of it, and wrapped it tightly around my shoulders.

Then I turned and walked out of the room, down the corridor, and out the automatic doors of the hospital. For the first time ever, when my phone rang with Ethan's name on the screen, I ignored it. I kept walking until I found a payphone, my fingers fumbling with the coins as I looked up the number for the best divorce lawyer in Austin.