Chapter 2

"You what?" Maya's voice cracked through the phone, a mixture of disbelief and pure shock. "Chloe, have you lost your mind? You arranged for your own husband to cheat on you? What kind of twisted, self-destructive game are you playing?"

"It's not a game, Maya," I said calmly. "It was a strategy."

"A strategy for what? Maximum emotional damage? I don't understand."

I could hear her pacing, her footsteps echoing faintly. She was trying to make sense of something that, from the outside, made no sense at all.

"He's wanted out for years, he just didn't have the courage to say it," I explained, my voice steady, betraying none of the ache that lived permanently in my chest. "He just needed a push. A reason he could justify to himself, to everyone. A young, innocent girl he needed to 'save' and give a 'legitimate status' to."

The words tasted like ash in my mouth.

"So you... you just served him up a reason on a silver platter?"

"I did."

"I think I need to sit down," Maya mumbled. "Who was your affair with? Was it real? I can't believe you didn't tell me."

"It wasn't real. It was your brother, Jake."

Maya let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-strangled cry. "Jake? My little brother Jake? Chloe, this is insane. This is the most complicated, heartbreaking, and frankly, brilliant thing I have ever heard."

My face remained impassive, a mask I had perfected over a decade. Inside, I felt a profound, hollowing sadness. This wasn't a victory. It was a surrender, meticulously planned. It was the white flag I was raising after a ten-year war of attrition against indifference.

"I have to go, Maya," I said, my energy suddenly gone. "I need to pick up Leo from school."

"Okay," she said, her voice softer now, filled with concern. "Call me later. Call me if you need anything at all. I mean it."

I hung up and pressed my fingertips to my temples. My head was throbbing. For a moment, I allowed myself to feel the full weight of it, the years of dinners eaten alone, of milestones forgotten, of reaching for a hand in the dark and finding only empty space.

Then I stood up, smoothed down my clothes, and went to get my son.

When I returned home with Leo, hand in hand, the front door was ajar. Ethan was home, which was a rarity before 8 PM. He was pacing in the foyer, his phone pressed to his ear. He didn't even look at us.

"Is she okay?" Ethan asked into the phone, his voice tight with worry. "Did she eat anything? You have to make sure she eats, she gets panicked when she's hungry."

My eyes met Leo's. My five-year-old son looked up at his father, his expression hopeful, and then he looked back at me, his small face filled with a familiar disappointment. He was already learning the painful lesson that his father' s attention was a commodity reserved for others.

I steered Leo towards the kitchen, my touch gentle on his back.

"Don't worry, honey," Ethan continued, his back to us. "I'll handle everything. I'm getting her the best care. I'll be there as soon as I can."

He hung up and finally turned, his eyes scanning right past me as if I were part of the furniture.

"I need you to pack a bag for Skylar," he said, not a request, but a command. "Some comfortable clothes, toiletries, a new toothbrush. She's at a hotel, she's very upset. She left her apartment in a hurry."

Skylar. So that was her name.

"Of course," I said, my voice neutral.

He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, a gesture of extreme agitation for him. "She's very sensitive, Chloe. This whole situation has been hard on her."

I thought of the ten years I had spent supporting him, managing our home, raising our son, and being the perfect corporate wife at his side, all while my own needs were ignored. I thought of my own sensitivity, a thing he had never once acknowledged.

"I'm sure it has," I said.

A flicker of memory surfaced. Leo, two years old, with a dangerously high fever. I had called Ethan, who was at a conference in Tokyo. He had been annoyed by the interruption. "Just take him to the doctor, Chloe. The corporate account will cover it. I have a keynote in twenty minutes." He never called back to check on his son.

But now, this girl, Skylar, was upset, and the world had to stop.

Without another word, I went upstairs to our master bedroom. To our walk-in closet, a space larger than most New York apartments. I bypassed my side, filled with architectural blacks and grays, and went to a section of clothes I had bought months ago, knowing this day would come. New, soft cashmere sweatpants, unworn t-shirts, all in a size small. I packed them neatly into a designer weekend bag, added new toiletries from the vanity, and brought it downstairs.

Ethan snatched the bag from my hand, his focus already on the door.

"The divorce papers," he said, turning back for a second. "My lawyer, Mr. Davison, will call you tomorrow. Just agree to whatever he proposes. I'll make sure you and Leo are taken care of financially."

He was already out the door, his car roaring to life in the driveway. He didn't say goodbye.

He didn't ask about Leo.

I stood in the doorway and watched his taillights disappear down the long, tree-lined drive. I absently noted the date on my watch. October 12th.

Our tenth wedding anniversary.

He had forgotten. Of course, he had forgotten.

A small hand slipped into mine. I looked down to see Leo staring up at me, his eyes wide with a question he didn't know how to ask.

"Is Daddy mad at us?" he whispered.

My heart constricted. This was the collateral damage. This beautiful, sensitive little boy.

"No, sweetie," I said, crouching down to his level. "Daddy is just... busy."

It was the same lie I had been telling him, and myself, for years.

"Mommy," he said, his small arms wrapping around my neck, "I love you."

"I love you too, Leo," I whispered into his hair, holding him tight. "More than anything."

I would protect him. This was why I had done it all. To get him out. To get us out, before his father's neglect left a hole in him that could never be filled.