Chapter 1

Everyone knew my husband Seth was cold.

Then I walked in on him pinning my stepsister against the kitchen counter, shoving her shirt up, mouth already on her neck.

It came out at a family dinner. Seth wanted a divorce. He'd fallen for Serena.

Serena's husband, Callum, agreed to let her go. His family had just gone bankrupt. He had nothing left to fight with.

So he took me instead.

Two couples. Two marriages. Swapped clean.

Callum looked at Seth across the table. "If my family hadn't gone under — if Serena hadn't wanted you — I would never have walked away."

Seth picked Serena up and left.

I stood in front of the leftover food and didn't know where to go.

It didn't matter. I was dying anyway.

I didn't say that out loud. I swallowed it back down.

Along with everything else I'd been swallowing for years.

---

The dinner broke up. The waitstaff cleared the table. I stood in the doorway of the private room with nowhere to go.

Seth had already carried Serena out. His arm around her waist, down the hotel corridor, into the elevator. He never looked back. Not once.

Callum was still there. Waiting.

"Let's go." He finally spoke. "Back to my place."

I didn't want to.

"You have nowhere else." His voice was even. "The Coles won't take you back. Where else would you go?"

I looked at him.

He always knew exactly where to press.

He waited. When I didn't answer, he reached out and took my hand.

His hand was warm. Knuckles sharp under the skin. Thin calluses on his fingertips.

Years ago, he'd held my hand the same way on the day we filed for marriage.

"Let's go," he said.

I didn't refuse again.

Because he was right. I had nowhere to go.

---

In the car, Callum sat behind the wheel and said nothing.

Then, after a long silence: "You hate me."

I turned to look at him.

He kept his eyes on the road. Streetlights swept across his face one after another.

I didn't answer.

Hate?

I used to.

After the divorce, the hate kept me up most nights. It sat in my chest like something I couldn't swallow down and couldn't spit out.

I hated him for marrying me and then not wanting me. For being kind to Serena in front of my face. For the way he started looking through me like I wasn't there.

But what I hated most was the needle.

The one he arranged. The one he held me down for.

I had just found out I was pregnant. I walked in with the ultrasound printout still warm in my hands.

I thought he'd be relieved. I thought maybe this was the thing that would finally give us something to build on.

He let me finish. Then he was quiet for a moment.

"Serena heard about it," he said. "She's not happy."

Serena wasn't happy. So the baby had to go.

I got on my knees. I told him it was his. That the scan showed a heartbeat. That it was beating right now, on that printout, that it was alive.

He didn't react. He picked up his phone and made a call.

I don't know who he called. I only heard his side: "Right. Home visit. As soon as possible."

Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang.

A woman in plain clothes came in with a small white case.

She glanced at me, then looked at Callum.

He nodded.

I got up to run. He grabbed me and pinned me to the bed.

I fought. I kicked him. I bit down on his hand until I tasted blood.

He didn't let go.

The needle went into my vein. My whole body locked up.

The fluid moved down the line, drop by drop, into me.

I still remember the pain.

I rolled. I clawed the sheets apart. I screamed for help until I had no voice left.

Nobody came.

He stood outside the door all night. He heard me scream. He heard me cry. He heard it go quiet.

The sheets were soaked red. The baby was gone.

The next morning he came in and looked at me. "Rest up," he said.

Then he left to see Serena.

She'd been upset about all of it. He went to comfort her.