Chapter 4

The public humiliation at the gala was not the end, but a strange kind of beginning. The shock had burned away the last remnants of my grief, leaving behind a cold, hard resolve. I met Chloe for coffee the next morning in a small, out-of-the-way cafe where no one would know us.

"Are you sure about this, El?" she asked, her eyes full of concern. "We can still just get you the best divorce lawyer in the country. We can ruin him."

I shook my head, stirring my black coffee. "A divorce would be a war, Chloe. He' d fight. He' d lie. He' d drag it out for years. It would be a public spectacle, and I' d be 'the wronged wife' for the rest of my life. I don' t want to be a victim. I want to be free."

I pushed a folder across the table. "I want to be Anna," I said.

Chloe opened it. Inside were documents. A new birth certificate, a social security card, a driver' s license. All bearing the name Anna Miller. The photo was of me, but with my hair cut short and dyed a soft brown. It was the result of Chloe' s resourceful and slightly illegal connections. She was a graphic designer with a network of talented friends who owed her favors, some of them skilled in creating more than just corporate logos.

"Anna Miller," Chloe read, a slow smile spreading across her face. "She' s a volunteer art teacher from a small town in Oregon. Likes hiking and has no living relatives. It' s a clean slate, El. A whole new life."

"It' s perfect," I said, feeling the first real spark of hope in what felt like an eternity. "Thank you, Chloe."

"Anything for you," she said, her expression turning serious. "Just say the word, and we set the final stage."

For the next few days, I played the part of the confused, hurt wife. I didn' t answer David' s frantic calls or respond to his endless stream of text messages. He showed up at my office, begging to talk, but I had my assistant tell him I was in a meeting. He waited outside our apartment building for hours.

He was losing control, and it was making him desperate. When I finally went home on the third day, he was there, looking haggard and lost.

"El, thank God," he said, rushing toward me as I stepped out of the elevator. "I' ve been going out of my mind. Where have you been?"

The concern in his voice was real, but it wasn' t for me. It was for himself. He was worried about losing his perfect life, his perfect wife, the stable foundation from which he could carry on his deceptions.

"I needed some space," I said, my voice deliberately cold and distant. I walked past him and unlocked the apartment door.

"We need to talk," he said, following me inside. "What you saw at the gala... it' s not what it looks like."

I turned to face him, a flicker of dark amusement inside me. "It' s not what it looks like? A child ran up to you, called you 'Daddy,' and his mother, your former assistant, claimed he misses you. What, exactly, am I supposed to think it looks like, David?"

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of pure desperation. "She' s... she' s manipulating me. It' s a complicated situation. She' s trying to extort me. The child... it' s not..."

He couldn' t even finish the lie. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"I' m going on a trip," I said, cutting him off. "Chloe and I are taking her father' s yacht out for a few days. I need to clear my head."

Relief washed over his face. A trip was something he could understand. It was temporary. It meant I was thinking, not leaving.

"That' s a good idea," he said quickly. "A great idea. You take all the time you need. We can talk when you get back. We can fix this, El. I know we can."

I just stared at him, letting the silence hang in the air.

The night before I was set to leave, I walked into our bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me pack a small duffel bag.

"Please don' t be gone too long," he said, his voice soft and pleading.

I walked over to my jewelry box. I took off the new diamond necklace he had bought me. I took off my watch. Finally, with a steady hand, I slid my wedding ring and my engagement ring from my finger. The skin underneath was pale, indented from six years of constant wear. My hand felt strangely light without them.

I held the three rings out to him in my palm.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"I don' t want to lose them on the boat," I said calmly. "They' re too valuable. Can you put them in the safe for me? Just until I get back."

He looked at the rings, then at my face, searching for some sign, some hidden meaning. But my expression was blank. He saw what he wanted to see: a wife taking a sensible precaution.

He took the rings from my hand, his fingers brushing against mine. The brief touch felt like an electric shock. He closed his hand around them, a look of profound relief on his face. He thought he was just holding them for a few days. He didn't know it was forever.

"Of course, El," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Of course. I' ll keep them safe for you. I' ll keep everything safe until you come home."

"I know you will," I said.

It was the last lie I would ever tell him.