Chapter 4

The absurdity of it was almost funny. Her parents, at her own birthday party, were ordering her husband to chase after his mistress.

Derek hesitated, his face a mess of conflicting emotions. For a split second, Catherine thought he might actually stay.

"I'm staying with you," he finally said, his voice tight. "It's your birthday." He motioned for a waiter. "Please escort my... guests... home." He couldn't even bring himself to say "your parents."

For the rest of the evening, he played the part of the perfect, doting husband. He picked out the food she liked, remembering she didn't eat cilantro, that she preferred her steak rare. It was a flawless performance.

As the party wound down, a spectacular fireworks display lit up the sky over the city. Red, gold, and blue explosions bloomed in the darkness. The grand finale spelled out a single name in glittering sparks: CATHERINE.

It was a grand, romantic, and utterly empty gesture.

He turned down offers for after-party drinks, telling everyone, "My time belongs to my wife tonight."

In the car on the way home, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his whole body tensed.

He slammed on the brakes, the tires shrieking against the pavement. He wrenched the steering wheel, making a wild, illegal U-turn in the middle of the street.

"What are you doing?" Catherine asked calmly.

"Something's come up at the office. A crisis," he said, the lie clumsy and thin. "I have to go. I'll drop you off here, you can get a cab."

She just stared at him, her gaze unwavering.

He faltered, unable to meet her eyes. "It's... it's a server issue. It's critical."

"Okay," she said. She opened the car door and got out, standing on the curb under the pale glow of a streetlight. She knew exactly where he was going. She knew who was on the other end of that call.

As if on cue, a text message lit up her own phone. It was from a private investigator she had hired that afternoon.

Target is at the waterfront, claiming she will jump. Appears to be a staged event to gain sympathy.

Derek's car sped away, leaving her in a cloud of exhaust. A moment later, his text came through.

So sorry, honey. This is a real emergency. I'll make it up to you. I love you.

She didn't reply.

She flagged down a taxi. "Follow that car."

The driver took them to a deserted parking lot by the industrial waterfront. Catherine paid him and got out. From the shadows, she could hear voices.

"I'm so sorry, Derek," Anjelica was saying, her voice thick with fake tears. "I made a fool of myself at the party. I should just disappear. It would be better for everyone."

"Don't say that," Derek's voice was soft, coaxing. "Don't you dare say that."

Catherine heard the sound of a kiss, wet and prolonged.

"But Catherine..." Anjelica murmured.

"Shhh," Derek said. "Tonight is about you."

Catherine saw the car's silhouette rock gently. The sound of muffled giggles and soft sighs carried on the night air.

The pain in her chest was a physical thing, a crushing weight that made it hard to breathe. She remembered a younger Derek, a boy who blushed if she held his hand too long in public. A boy who had been hers, and hers alone.

That boy was gone. In his place was this stranger, this man who could declare his undying love with fireworks and then, an hour later, prove how little it all meant.

This man, her husband, was having sex with the woman who had put her in a coma, in the back of their car, on her birthday.

Her heart didn't just break. It was methodically, systematically torn to shreds.

The cold night wind blew through her thin dress, but she didn't feel it. She felt nothing at all.

She turned around and walked away, the sound of their passion a sickening rhythm behind her. She did not look back.