Chapter 2

I looked at Sarah, at the black box in her hands, at the gleam of the titanium ring nestled inside. The scene was identical, a perfect, chilling replica of the moment my life had begun its downward spiral. Her voice, her expression, the very light in the room-it was all the same.

But I was different. The man who had stood in this spot before was gone, replaced by someone who had lived through the betrayal, who had felt the cold steel of handcuffs on his wrists and the crushing weight of a life sentence. The naive husband was dead, buried in a maximum-security prison that now, somehow, existed only in my memory.

Sarah was still talking, her words a meaningless buzz in my ears.

"...the next big thing in wearable tech. He wants me to test it for him."

In the first timeline, I had argued. I had pleaded. I had warned. This time, I just gave a slight, noncommittal nod.

"That' s nice," I said. My voice was calm, so detached it barely sounded like my own.

I turned away from her, leaving her mid-sentence, and walked deliberately toward my study at the end of the hall. The polished hardwood floors felt solid beneath my feet, a grounding sensation in a world that had just been turned upside down.

Inside the study, I closed the door, shutting out the sight of her and the cursed ring. I sat down at my desk, the leather of the chair cool against my back. My hands were steady as I powered on my computer and printer. I didn't hesitate. I didn't second-guess.

I typed "divorce petition form" into the search bar, found the correct one for our state, and clicked print.

The printer whirred to life, the sound filling the quiet room. It was the sound of a final decision. The sound of a life being reclaimed. Page after page slid into the output tray, the black ink stark against the white paper.

The door to the study opened without a knock. It was Sarah, her face a mask of confusion and irritation. The smart ring was now on her finger.

"What are you doing? I was talking to you."

Then her eyes fell on the papers in the printer tray. She walked over, pulled the top sheet out, and read the bold letters at the top.

"Petition for Dissolution of Marriage."

She stared at the words, her brow furrowed as if she couldn't comprehend them.

"What is this?" she asked, her voice quiet, disbelieving.

She looked up at me, her eyes searching my face for an explanation, for some sign that this was a joke. She found none. My expression was a blank wall.

"Are you crazy, Ethan?" she finally burst out, her voice rising. "A divorce? What is this about? Is it because of the ring? Because Alex gave me a gift?"

"This has nothing to do with the ring," I lied, my voice flat. I would not give her the satisfaction of knowing the truth. I would not give her any ammunition to use against me.

"Then what? You walk in here, say nothing, and print divorce papers? After everything? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Her accusations washed over me, hollow echoes of a past I refused to repeat. The Sarah in front of me was playing the part of the wronged wife, but all I could see was the woman behind the prison glass, her face filled with venom.

"It' s not working, Sarah," I said simply. "We' re not working. It' s over."

"It' s not working?" she scoffed, waving the paper in her hand. "We were fine this morning! This is about Alex. It' s always been about Alex. You' re pathologically jealous. You can' t stand to see me succeed."

I didn't answer. I just took the stack of papers from the printer, tapped them into a neat pile on the desk, and slid them into a manila folder.

Just then, my work phone buzzed on the desk. I glanced at the screen. It was a text from my partner, Dave.

'Heard Sarah' s rocking some new tech from Thorne. Tell her not to wear it to the family BBQ at my place. Might hack my new smart grill. Lol.'

A bitter smile touched my lips for a second. Even Dave, a solid but not particularly paranoid agent, could see the potential risk. He meant it as a joke, but it was a stark reminder of how obvious this was to anyone with a shred of professional sense.

I showed the phone to Sarah. "Even Dave gets it."

She glanced at the text and sneered, her contempt for my world palpable.

"Oh, Dave the barbecue king is a cybersecurity expert now? Please. This is a gift from Alex Thorne. He' s a genius. He' s years ahead of the FBI' s clunky, outdated tech. The security protocols you guys live by are a joke to him. This ring is safer than anything the Bureau issues."

She held up her hand, flaunting the titanium band. It gleamed under the desk lamp, a symbol of her arrogance and her blind allegiance to another man.

"You should be grateful, Ethan. My connection to Alex could be an asset to you. But you' re too small-minded to see it."

I looked from her face, so full of condescending pride, down to the manila folder in my hands. I remembered the rough fabric of the prison jumpsuit, the taste of stale food, the endless nights staring at a concrete ceiling. I remembered her final, damning words.

You deserve to rot in prison.

My resolve hardened into something unbreakable. I would not let her drag me down into that abyss again. This time, I would be the one to walk away.

"I want you to move out," I said, my voice leaving no room for argument. "I' ll stay at a hotel for a few days to give you time to pack your things."

Her jaw dropped. The arrogance on her face was replaced by pure shock, then a flash of genuine fury. She had never been denied anything she wanted. She was used to being in control, to manipulating me with guilt and accusations. But the man she knew how to manipulate no longer existed.

"You can' t be serious," she whispered, her voice trembling with rage. "You' re throwing away our marriage over your petty jealousy."

"Sign the papers, Sarah," I said, pushing the folder across the desk toward her. "Or don' t. It doesn' t matter. I' m done."

I stood up, walked past her without a glance, and left the room. I could feel her eyes on my back, burning with a hatred that was finally, blessedly, out in the open.