Chapter 2

I didn't know when Ethan came home.

When I opened my eyes, daylight was already filling the bedroom. He sat at the kitchen table eating toast, scrolling through his phone like any other morning.

"When did you get back?" My voice came out wrecked—sandpaper over gravel. My forehead burned. Carrying Lily's urn through the rain without an umbrella had done its work.

"An hour ago. Vanessa got caught in the rain yesterday, her cycle's about to start—I stayed to make sure she was alright."

Stayed. All night.

Same rain. Same city. Same hours I spent shaking with fever, alone with an urn still warm from the fire.

I said nothing.

My eyes drifted to his wrist. A braided band, red and gold.

"Is that a blessing bracelet from St. Clement's?"

"Mm. Vanessa's daughter had her move-in this week, so I stopped by the cathedral to pick one up. Seems to have worked—Mia's feeling good about her placement."

Stopped by. St. Clement's was forty minutes uphill on a single-lane road. No parking within a mile.

"Then why'd you bring it back?"

"Lily's not starting until next year, right? Vanessa thought we could save the luck for her."

Next year.

Lily was starting this year.

She would never start at all.

He didn't remember. But he remembered Vanessa's cycle down to the day.

I managed a small smile. Said nothing. Waited for him to finish.

Then: "Are you free this afternoon? I need you to take a case for me."

He looked up, surprised. "What kind of case? Important?"

My throat locked. It took everything I had to push the words out, flat and steady.

"Important. A friend's daughter was dragged into a bathroom during move-in week and—I need those men to get the maximum sentence."

Ethan nodded. Didn't refuse.

"Sure. What time? Vanessa mentioned Mia left a pen at the registration office—it was her father's, sentimental value. Let me grab that first, then I'll head straight to you."

"Two o'clock. The hearing's today. If you go now, there's barely enough time."

"Can't the case wait one—"

"It can't. Please. This means everything to me. I'll buy Mia a new pen."

Ethan sighed. Patient. Gentle. Immovable.

"It's not about the pen, Claire. That's the only thing Mia has left from her father. They've been through so much, those two. It's a small thing—let me do this for them."

"It won't take long."

I watched him leave. Thirty-five miles round trip, for a pen.

Three hours passed. Then four. Then the final boarding call for the courtroom came and went.

Ethan didn't come.

I wasn't surprised. But I called anyway.

Third attempt, he picked up.

"Where are you?"

My voice was so calm it frightened me.

"I'm sorry—Mia's classmates, some boys, they've been falsely accused of assault. It's urgent, Claire, these kids could lose everything. Your friend's daughter can appeal—let me handle this first."

I begged him to fight for his own daughter.

He told me Mia's friends mattered more.

"Forget it," I said. "There won't be a next time."

I hung up. Called another attorney. Paid triple the retainer for an emergency appearance.

He arrived with minutes to spare.

But when I stepped into the courtroom, I froze.

Ethan was already there.

Sitting on the other side of the aisle. Suit pressed, files open, perfectly composed.

My husband—representing the men who killed our daughter.