Chapter 1

Today was my ninth wedding anniversary.

My husband, Mark Davies, sent a gift. It was a diamond necklace from a brand I liked, sitting in its velvet box on the rolling table next to my hospital bed. It was lavish, expensive, and completely meaningless.

I picked up my phone, my fingers feeling weak against the cool glass. The discomfort from the surgery was a dull, constant ache in my abdomen. I found his name in my contacts and pressed call.

The phone rang once, twice. Just as I thought it would go to voicemail, he picked up.

"Sarah? I' m a bit busy right now."

His voice was distant, a little distracted. I could hear faint music in the background.

I ignored the ache in my gut and the hollowness in my chest. I kept my own voice steady.

"Mark, let' s get a divorce."

Silence on his end. For a moment, I thought the call had dropped. Then I heard a muffled shuffling sound, like he was covering the phone' s microphone to speak to someone else.

When he spoke again, his voice was gone. Instead, a young woman' s voice, thick with tears, came through the speaker.

"Mrs. Davies? This is Emily. Please, don' t do this to Mark."

Her crying was soft, pleading.

"Even if my gift isn' t to your liking, you shouldn' t treat him this way. He picked it out with me. He was so excited. He really loves you. He can' t live without you..."

Her words were a jumble of nonsense. Her gift? She was calling the anniversary present he sent me, her gift.

A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips. I held it back.

I heard Mark' s voice again, murmuring in the background, comforting her. "It' s okay, Emily. Don' t cry. It' s not your fault."

Then he was back on the line, his voice suddenly sharp and eager, all pretense of being busy gone.

"A divorce? Fine."

He sounded relieved.

"See you at the courthouse tomorrow morning. Nine o' clock."

He hung up before I could say another word.

I stared at the blank screen of my phone. He agreed so quickly. He was so ready. The young woman, his protégé Emily Chen, was right there with him. Crying as if she were the wronged party.

The next morning, I checked myself out of the hospital against medical advice. I put on the clothes I' d worn when I was admitted. They hung loosely on my frame. I put the diamond necklace in my purse and took a taxi to the courthouse.

I waited.

Nine o' clock came and went. Then ten. Then eleven.

Mark never showed up.

I called him. It went straight to voicemail. I sent him a text. It went unanswered.

I waited until the courthouse closed for the day. He never came.

I went back to our empty house. The next day, I waited for him to call, to explain. He didn' t.

A week went by. Then two.

I spent my days recovering from the hysterectomy, the silence of the house pressing in on me. Our daughter, Lily, was staying with my parents. I told them I needed some time to rest after a minor procedure. I didn' t tell them their son-in-law was having an affair. I didn' t tell them I had cancer. I didn' t tell them my marriage was over.

A month passed. More than a month.

Mark Davies, the man who eagerly agreed to a divorce, the man who couldn' t wait to be free, simply vanished from my life, but not from the paperwork that bound us together.

He didn't want a divorce. Not really. He just wanted to say yes to shut me up. He wanted me to believe he was done, so I would be the one to beg, to apologize, to take back my words. That' s how it always worked. He would get angry, I would concede. He would give me the silent treatment, I would break it.

He thought he still had me under his thumb. He thought I was the same Sarah who would always wait for him.

He was wrong. This time was different. I wasn' t just hurt. I was hollowed out, first by illness, and then by him. There was nothing left inside me for him to control.