Chapter 3

I must have passed out on the floor of Lily' s room. When I woke, the house was dark except for the light spilling in from the hallway. My body ached, and my head throbbed.

A figure stood in the doorway. It was Ethan.

He didn't move to help me. He just stood there, his arms crossed, his face a mask of irritation.

"So this is your new strategy?" he asked, his voice laced with disdain. "Fainting for dramatic effect? It' s beneath you, Sarah."

I slowly pushed myself up, my limbs stiff and weak. I looked at him, at the man I had once loved, and felt nothing but a cold, vast emptiness. The part of me that could be hurt by him was dead. It had died with Lily.

"I passed out from grief, Ethan," I said, my voice raspy. "Not that you would understand what that is."

He scoffed. "Grief? Over a broken crystal set? You' re blowing this completely out of proportion to make me look like the bad guy. It' s a classic manipulation tactic."

The absurdity of his words was staggering. He was so wrapped up in his own narrative, so blinded by his self-proclaimed enlightenment, that he couldn't see the truth even when it was screaming in his face. He still thought this was about the crystals.

"I don' t want to manipulate you, Ethan," I said, my voice steadying with a newfound resolve. "I want to be free of you."

I walked past him, out of Lily' s room and into the living room. I needed space. I needed air.

"I told you, I spoke to Mr. Peterson," I said, turning to face him. "The divorce papers will be ready tomorrow."

"A divorce?" He finally seemed to register the word, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "You' re throwing away our marriage over this? Over a single disciplinary action?"

"It wasn' t discipline, Ethan. It was abuse."

"It was what she needed! What you have been too weak to provide!" he shot back, his voice rising for the first time. "You think this is my fault? This is your fault! Your weakness created this situation!"

He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, a gesture of frustration. "This is about Chloe, isn't it? You' re jealous. You can' t stand that I have a connection with someone who actually understands my path."

His inability to take any responsibility was absolute. He had built a fortress of self-justification around himself, and nothing could get through.

His phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. The screen lit up with a picture of Chloe, a serene smile on her face.

He glanced at the phone, then back at me, his eyes filled with impatience as if our conversation was a tedious chore he had to get through.

"We' ll talk about this later," he said, already moving toward the phone. "I have to take this."

He answered with a voice that was suddenly warm and gentle. "Chloe. Is everything okay?"

He listened for a moment, his back to me. "Of course. I' m on my way."

He hung up and grabbed his keys, not even bothering to look at me. "Chloe needs me. There was a security issue at her hotel. She' s frightened."

Frightened. The word hung in the air. He was rushing to comfort a grown woman who was frightened, after he had left his own child to die of fright. The irony was so bitter it tasted like poison.

As he was about to leave, the front door opened, and Chloe herself walked in. She was dressed in flowing white, looking ethereal and delicate. She rushed to Ethan's side, her expression a perfect portrait of distress.

"Ethan, darling," she said, her voice a soft coo. "I was so worried. I came straight here."

She wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest. He held her, stroking her hair.

"It' s alright," he murmured. "I' m here. I won' t let anything happen to you."

They stood there, locked in an embrace in the middle of my living room, just feet away from the room where our daughter had died. They were a perfect picture of love and concern.

Chloe lifted her head and looked over Ethan' s shoulder, her eyes meeting mine. For a split second, the mask of innocence dropped. I saw a flash of something else in her gaze-a cold, triumphant satisfaction.

It was a look of pure victory.

In that moment, I understood that this was no accident. This was an execution, and she was the one who had orchestrated it.

The cold emptiness inside me ignited into a white-hot rage.