Chapter 1

The diagnosis felt like a piece of ice in my hand, cold and sharp. Glioblastoma. A rare, aggressive brain tumor. The doctor' s words were a low hum in the background, a sound that didn't seem to connect to my life. My life as Ethan Miller, an architect who built futures for other people, had just been given an end date.

I walked out of the hospital in a daze and drove home, the paper crumpled in my fist. The first thing I saw when I walked in was the television, blaring in the empty living room. A local news channel was showing a segment on happy, expecting couples.

And there she was.

My estranged wife, Chloe Davis, was smiling at the camera. Her hand was resting on her swollen belly. Standing next to her, with his arm wrapped protectively around her, was Mark Jensen. The caption read: "Local couple shares their joy."

The camera zoomed in on Chloe' s face as she spoke to the reporter. "We're just so excited to start our family. Mark has been my rock."

My rock. The words echoed in the hollow space of my chest.

Then, a sudden crash from the hallway.

I turned to see my five-year-old son, Liam, standing over the shattered pieces of my phone. He had thrown it against the wall. He looked up at me, his small face set in a scowl that looked so much like his mother's.

"You're not supposed to be here," Liam said, his voice hard.

"Liam, what did you do?" I asked, my own voice sounding distant.

He didn't answer my question. Instead, he puffed out his chest, a strange imitation of Mark's arrogant posture. "I married Mark. You won't drive him away like you did Uncle Ben."

My mind went blank. Uncle Ben. He was dredging up a history he couldn't possibly understand, a history Chloe had twisted into a weapon.

Liam then proudly held up a piece of paper. It was a crude drawing of a family, but what mattered was the writing underneath. He had scrawled out their names. Mark Jensen. Chloe Jensen. And Liam Jensen.

"I've taken Uncle Mark's last name," he declared, his eyes shining with a cruel victory. "We're the real family now!"

Every word was a physical blow. The crumpled diagnosis in my hand suddenly felt insignificant compared to this. This was a different kind of death.

I looked at the wreckage of my family, at the son who no longer carried my name, at the television broadcasting my wife' s new life. A final shred of dignity rose up inside me.

"Fine," I said, my voice cracking. "Then let's get a divorce."

Chloe chose that exact moment to walk through the door, Mark trailing behind her. She must have heard me. She let out a short, ugly laugh.

"Divorce?" she scoffed, her eyes cold as stone. "We were never married, Ethan. I never filed the papers. You were just a convenience."

She gestured dismissively. "So if you're leaving, just get out. We don't want you here."

The words hit me harder than the diagnosis. Never married. My years of sacrifice, of loving her, of raising Liam-all of it built on a lie she had maintained.

Liam ran to my side, but not for a hug. He started pushing me toward the door with all his might.

"Get out!" he yelled, his small hands shoving at my legs. "Get out and leave Uncle Mark alone!"

The door slammed shut behind me, the sound final. The lock clicked. I was on the porch of the house I had designed, the home I had built, an outcast.

I pulled out the crumpled paper from my pocket and stared at the medical terms again. It felt real now. Standing there alone, I finally let myself feel the terror.

My hands shook as I pulled out my new, cheap burner phone and dialed a number I knew by heart. My ex-mother-in-law.

She answered on the second ring. "Ethan?"

"You heard it all, didn't you?" I asked, my voice flat. "I'm sure Chloe had me on speaker."

There was a long sigh on the other end of the line. A sound heavy with years of unspoken truths.

"Ethan," she said, her voice filled with a weary sadness. "Our family wronged you. I'm so sorry."

Just as I was about to hang up, something dropped from the porch awning above me. It landed squarely on my face. It was small, hairy, and fast. A spider.

I swatted it away in a panic, but it was too late. A sharp, burning pain erupted on my cheek. I felt its fangs pierce my skin, twice.

I looked up. Liam was staring down at me from his bedroom window, a triumphant grin on his face.

"Good job, Spidey!" he cheered, his voice high and clear. "That'll teach you for bothering Uncle Mark! Bite him dead!"

I stumbled back, my hand flying to my cheek. Two black, angry-looking bites were already swelling. My heart pounded in my ears. I knew some of the spiders in this area were venomous.

I had to get to a hospital.

I scrambled to my car, my vision starting to blur at the edges. My breath came in ragged gasps. I fumbled with the keys, finally getting the engine to start.

As I pulled out of the driveway, a black SUV that had been parked across the street suddenly roared to life. Its headlights flashed on, blinding me. It accelerated directly toward me.

I had no time to react.

The SUV slammed into the driver's side of my car with a deafening screech of metal. The world spun violently, flipping over and over until it settled into a mangled heap of glass and steel.

Hanging upside down, held in place only by my seatbelt, I saw the SUV pause for a moment. Chloe was in the passenger seat, her window rolled down. Her eyes met mine through the shattered windshield. They were devoid of any emotion except a chilling, cold satisfaction.

"Trying to fake a deadly illness to get my sympathy?" her voice drifted across the space between our cars, sharp and clear. "I'll see if you really die this time."

The SUV sped off, its tires squealing on the pavement, leaving me hanging in the wreckage. My cries for help were lost to the wind.