Chapter 1

The table was set for two. A single white candle flickered in the center, its flame dancing over the polished surface of the dining room table. Sarah smoothed the linen napkin on her lap for the tenth time. It was their fifth wedding anniversary. She had spent the afternoon cooking Mark' s favorite meal, a rosemary-crusted rack of lamb. The aroma filled their quiet, too-large house.

Her phone buzzed on the table. It was a text from Mark.

Something came up at work. Can't make it. Raincheck?

Sarah stared at the words. Just that. No apology, no explanation. The casualness of it felt cold. She looked at the two full wine glasses, the perfectly cooked lamb resting on the counter, the small, gift-wrapped box next to his plate. A familiar hollowness spread through her chest. This wasn't the first time he had canceled, not even the first time this month. His career always came first.

She didn't reply. Instead, she stood up, blew out the candle, and began clearing the untouched table. The silence of the house pressed in on her. It was a silence she had grown used to over the past year. Mark was always at the office, or at a work dinner, or traveling for a conference. When he was home, he was distant, his mind clearly elsewhere.

She put the food in the refrigerator, her movements mechanical. As she closed the door, her eyes landed on his briefcase, which he had dropped by the door when he' d rushed in and out that morning. It was unlatched. A corner of a thick manila envelope was sticking out. Normally, she wouldn't have looked. She respected his privacy, his work. But tonight, a bitter curiosity got the better of her.

Sarah knelt and pulled the envelope out. It wasn't company letterhead. It was from a law firm she didn't recognize. Her fingers felt numb as she undid the clasp. Inside was a thick stack of papers, held together by a large clip. The top page was a cover letter addressed to Mark. She scanned it quickly, her heart beginning to pound. Words jumped out at her: ...in accordance with your instructions...dissolution of marriage...

Her breath caught in her throat. She flipped to the next page. It was a pre-nuptial agreement, or rather, a post-nuptial one, designed for a swift and clean divorce. It was dated three months ago. And at the bottom, in his familiar, confident script, was his signature. Mark had signed it. He had been planning this for months. He had a lawyer, a plan, a signed document ready to go. He was just waiting for the right moment to serve it to her.

A wave of nausea washed over her. She sat down hard on the floor, the documents clutched in her hand. Five years. Five years of dedicating her life to him, to their home. She had put her own passion for art on hold to be the perfect, supportive wife. For this. To be discarded with a pre-signed legal document.

Suddenly, it all made sense. The distance, the late nights, the canceled plans. It wasn't just work. A face swam into her memory, a pretty face with a bright, possessive smile. Emily. Mark' s college sweetheart. His "first love," the one he always talked about with a wistful look in his eyes. Sarah had heard from a mutual friend that Emily had moved back to town six months ago. The timing was too perfect.

Sarah remembered a company dinner a few weeks back. She had been standing by Mark's side when Emily appeared, looking radiant. "Mark, it's been too long," Emily had said, her voice a soft purr as she completely ignored Sarah. Mark' s face had lit up in a way Sarah hadn' t seen in years. He had spent the rest of the evening talking to Emily, his back turned to his own wife. Sarah had felt like a ghost, an unwanted accessory. At one point, she heard Emily laugh and say, "Some things are just meant to be, aren't they?" Mark had just smiled, a sad, longing smile that wasn't for Sarah.

She had tried to tell herself it was nothing. That she was being jealous and insecure. She had repeated it to herself over and over. He loves me. He chose me. It' s just an old friend. What a fool she had been. She had lied to herself, papering over the cracks in their marriage, pretending not to see the obvious. He had never truly gotten over Emily. Sarah was just a placeholder, a comfortable, convenient wife until the real thing came back.

The humiliation of that dinner party came rushing back, sharp and painful. The way Mark had introduced her, a brief, "This is my wife, Sarah," before turning his full attention back to Emily. The way Emily had looked Sarah up and down with a dismissive glance, as if she were assessing a piece of furniture that was in her way. The hushed, intimate conversation between them that had excluded everyone else.

Later that night, in the car on the way home, Mark had been silent. When Sarah had tried to ask about Emily, he had cut her off. "She's just an old friend, Sarah. Don't make a big deal out of it." His voice was cold, defensive. Now she understood. He wasn't just defending a friend. He was defending his plan. His future.

She looked down at the papers in her hands. The legal jargon was a blur, but the intent was brutally clear. He wanted out. He wanted Emily. And he had laid the groundwork to make it happen as smoothly as possible, with as little fuss as he could manage. The loving husband was a lie. The shared future was a fantasy she had built all by herself.

A cold, hard resolve settled in her stomach, pushing out the pain and the shock. She wouldn't be a victim. She wouldn't wait for him to hand her these papers with a fake, regretful speech. He wanted a divorce. Fine. He could have it.

She stood up, her legs stiff. She walked back to his briefcase and carefully placed the divorce papers back inside the envelope, tucking it back in just as she had found it. She closed the latch. Then she went upstairs to their bedroom, the room they had shared for five years, and began to pack a bag. He wouldn't be the one to end this. She would.