Chapter 2

HANNAH POV:

The drive home was a silent, suffocating ordeal. Jackson held my hand, his thumb stroking my knuckles in that familiar, soothing way that now felt like a spider crawling over my skin.

"You know," he said, his voice carefully casual as he turned onto our oak-lined driveway, "in a couple of days, it'll be the... anniversary."

He didn't need to say her name. Scarlett's supposed death day.

"Your parents and I were thinking of going to the old chapel, just to... you know. Say a prayer." He squeezed my hand. "You don't have to come, of course. We wouldn't want to upset you by bringing it all up again."

It was the perfect excuse. A lie wrapped in a layer of feigned concern for my feelings. He was going to see her. They were all going to see her.

"Okay," I said, my voice flat.

He visibly relaxed, a small sigh escaping his lips. "Good. I just want to protect you." He leaned over to kiss me as he parked the car, but I turned my head at the last second, his lips grazing my cheek.

I didn't want his touch. Not anymore. I felt the sharp edge of my own fingernail dig into the palm of my other hand, the small, sharp pain a welcome anchor in a sea of nausea.

Back in our sprawling, silent house, I waited. I listened until the sound of the shower started upstairs, a steady drone that covered the frantic beating of my own heart. Then, I moved.

His study had always been his sanctuary, but it was never off-limits to me. He trusted me. The thought was so bitter it almost made me gag.

I pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped inside. The room smelled of old books and his cologne. My eyes went straight to his laptop, sitting closed on the mahogany desk. I lifted the screen.

The desktop wallpaper hit me like a physical blow.

It was a picture of a perfect family, beaming under a sunny sky. Jackson, his arm wrapped around a smiling Scarlett, who was holding the little boy, Leo. They looked so happy. So real.

My own wedding photo was in a silver frame on the corner of the desk, gathering dust.

The computer was password protected. My mind raced. What would it be? A date? A name? Then, a cold, clear thought cut through the fog. Scarlett had mentioned a gallery. Jackson had mentioned an anniversary. But the boy... the boy was the center of their world.

I typed in the child's birthday, a date I'd overheard Scarlett mention to the boy on the terrace.

The screen unlocked.

My hand trembled as I clicked on the photos folder. It wasn't just one picture. It was thousands. A lifetime of memories I was never a part of.

Leo's first steps. Jackson holding him aloft on a beach, the sun glinting off their identical dark curls. Scarlett and Jackson sharing a kiss under a Christmas tree, the little boy asleep in his mother's arms.

Then, the final betrayal.

My parents. My father, Robert Beaumont, was in a photo from Leo's baptism, his hand resting proudly on the boy's head. My mother, Eleanor Beaumont, was there too, beaming as she held a tiny, giggling Leo. They were a family. A happy, whole, secret family.

My family. My husband. My parents. All of them.

My phone vibrated on the desk beside me, the screen lighting up with a text from an unknown number.

*'Heard you were on the terrace tonight. Hope you didn't catch a chill. I'm having a little anniversary party for my gallery next week. You should come. See all the beautiful things my family has given me.'*

It was from her. A taunt. A victory lap.

Just then, the study door opened. Jackson stood there, a towel around his waist, his hair damp from the shower. He smiled that easy, handsome smile that had once made my heart leap.

"There you are," he said. "I was wondering where you went. Listen, something's come up at work. I have to fly to Atlanta tomorrow for a couple of days. An emergency meeting."

He was looking right at me, lying with the same ease he used to tell me he loved me.