Chapter 2

The world went black after I sent the text.

I must have passed out on the floor, because the next thing I knew, Chandler was standing over me. It was early, the sun barely up.

"Ava? Why are you sleeping on the floor?"

His voice held a flicker of concern, the kind you' d show a pet.

He scooped me up. His arms were strong, familiar. For a second, I let myself pretend this was real. He laid me gently in bed and pulled the covers over me. My nose stung, and I had to fight back a fresh wave of tears.

He really was the perfect husband, on the surface. Gentle, polite, a man who remembered I liked my coffee with two sugars and put soft bumpers on the sharp corners of the furniture because I was clumsy. He had even custom-ordered a thick, soft rug for the living room because I liked to walk around barefoot.

I had drowned in that gentleness for years. But Kristyn' s return had been like a bucket of ice water to the face. It was all a performance.

I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to see the pity in his.

He sighed, his fingers tilting my chin up. "Stop sulking, Ava. I have something for you."

I almost laughed. Sulking? Was that what he thought this was?

He placed a small velvet box in my hand. I opened it. Inside, nestled on the satin, was a single diamond earring. Just one.

The doorbell rang.

Chandler went to answer it, and a moment later, Kristyn' s voice floated into the room.

"Chandler, darling, you can' t just give a girl one earring. It' s supposed to be a pair."

I sat up. Kristyn was standing in the doorway of my bedroom, a smug smile on her face. Dazzling on her earlobe was the matching diamond stud.

He had given me her hand-me-down.

I remembered a promise he' d made to me, years ago, in the sterile white of the hospital. "I'll give you everything, Ava. A love that is yours and yours alone."

The words were ash in my mouth now. I was nothing more than someone who picked up the scraps Kristyn left behind.

A sharp pain shot through my chest.

Kristyn looped her arm through Chandler' s, acting like she owned the place. Like she was the wife, and I was the guest.

"I' m starving," she announced, her eyes landing on me. "Ava, you' re such a good cook. Why don' t you make us breakfast?"

It was a command, not a request.

"I' m not feeling well," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Kristyn' s face fell instantly. She pouted at Chandler. "If she doesn' t want me here, I' ll just leave."

"Don' t be ridiculous," Chandler said, his brow furrowed in annoyance. Not at her. At me. "Ava, stop being difficult. Just make some breakfast."

He was treating me like the maid.

My fight was gone. I was too tired, too broken. I dragged myself out of bed and went to the kitchen.

I was frying eggs when it happened. My hands were shaking, my vision blurry with unshed tears. I tripped over the rug-the one he' d bought for my comfort-and the hot pan flew out of my hand.

Sizzling oil splattered across my arm. The pain was immediate, searing.

I cried out.

Chandler rushed in. But he didn' t run to me. He ran to Kristyn, who was standing safely by the door.

"Are you okay? Did it get on you?" he asked, his voice frantic with worry as he inspected her hands, her face.

She hadn' t been touched.

"I think a little bit splashed on me," Kristyn whimpered, holding up her perfectly fine hand. "It hurts, Chandler. Take me to the hospital."

He scooped her up into his arms and ran out the door without a single glance back at me.

I was left alone on the kitchen floor, my arm blistering, my heart shattered into a million pieces.

I could still hear his voice, a ghost from the past, whispering, "I' ll protect you, Ava. For the rest of my life."