Chapter 2

The world came back to me in sharp, painful fragments. The sterile smell of antiseptic, the dull ache in my ribs, the coarse texture of a hospital blanket. A nurse told me I had a concussion and severe bruising. My body was a map of someone else' s hatred.

When I was finally discharged, the only place I could think to go was home. It was a stupid, instinctive act, like a wounded animal crawling back to its den, even if the predator was waiting inside.

I used my key. The lock turned with a familiar click that now sounded like a death knell.

The house was quiet. The broken window was boarded up. I walked into the living room, my body screaming with every step.

And there they were.

Ethan was on the sofa, the same sofa where Chloe had delivered her life-shattering confession. Chloe was curled up against him, her head on his chest. He was feeding her grapes, one by one, like she was a precious, fragile queen. He would pop one into her mouth, and she would giggle, a sickeningly sweet sound that scraped against my raw nerves.

They didn' t notice me at first. I stood in the doorway, a ghost in my own home, watching the scene of my ultimate replacement. My husband was tending to my best friend, the woman carrying his child, in the home we were supposed to build a life in together. My own physical pain, the bruises hidden under my clothes, felt insignificant compared to the gaping wound in my chest.

Finally, Ethan looked up and saw me. He didn't look surprised or guilty. He looked annoyed, as if I were an interruption.

"Ava. You' re back."

Chloe sat up, pulling a blanket around herself. She looked at me with wide, tear-filled eyes, a masterful performance of innocence.

"Oh, Ava," she said, her voice a soft, pathetic whisper. "I' m so, so sorry for what happened to you. I never wanted any of this. If I had known people would get so violent..."

Her apology was as fake as the video. It was a string of words designed to make her look like the victim, to make me feel pity for her. I felt nothing but disgust.

Ethan stood up and walked toward me, but he kept a careful distance.

"Chloe' s been very stressed," he said, his tone clipped and business-like. "The doctor said she needs to rest. Any stress is bad for the baby."

He looked at my face, at the faint yellowing bruise on my cheekbone.

"I' ve already hired a company to install a better security system. And I bought Chloe a new car so she doesn't have to deal with the public."

He was talking about material things, about protecting her, about her comfort. He hadn't asked me a single question about my well-being. He hadn't asked if I was in pain. He hadn't apologized for the mob he sicced on me.

"What about me, Ethan?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. "What about the fact that I was beaten by a mob because of a video you created? A mob you did nothing to stop?"

He had the audacity to look irritated.

"Ava, let' s be reasonable. What' s done is done. We can' t change the past. Chloe' s reputation was on the line. She' s a public figure. This would have destroyed her. You' re a private person, you can recover."

He made it sound like a business decision. A cold, calculated choice where I was the acceptable loss. The words hung in the air between us, ugly and final. He saw my pain as an inconvenience. He saw my life as less valuable than her online following.

That was it. The last flicker of hope, the tiny, stupid part of me that thought maybe there was an explanation, that maybe he still loved me, died in that moment. It was gone, extinguished by his cold, selfish words. I looked at him, at this man I had promised to spend my life with, and I saw a stranger. A monster wearing the face of the man I loved.

The love I had for him curdled into something else, something cold and hard. It was the death of a dream, and while it was agonizing, it was also strangely liberating. There was nothing left to save. There was nothing left to fight for.

"I' m leaving," I said. The words were simple, but they held the weight of my entire future.

Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked toward our bedroom. His bedroom, I corrected myself. It wasn' t ours anymore.

I started pulling my clothes from the closet, my movements stiff and mechanical. I grabbed a suitcase from the top shelf, the same one I had carried home just hours ago, filled with naive hopes of a happy reunion. Now, I would fill it with the wreckage of my life and walk away.