Chapter 1

Yvette Fox was carrying Simon James's child.

She used to be the one who pinned me down in the women's restroom and filmed it. Now she sat on my wedding bed with her belly out, calling me "Andrea Henson, sweetie" over and over.

I ran into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and went for Simon. He backhanded me across the face and called me a lunatic.

I hit the floor, half my face swelling, blood dripping off my chin.

I fled back to my parents' house. My mother blocked the doorway. "What are you coming back here for? Have you no shame?"

My father sighed from inside. "You completely lost control of yourself."

Nobody asked me whether it hurt.

And nobody knew about the pregnancy test in my bag. I'd been hiding it for three days.

Simon knew even less than that. The child in Yvette's belly might not even be his.

......

"Andrea, sweetie, don't be angry."

Yvette sat on the bed Simon and I shared, wearing my silk nightgown, her slightly rounded belly pushed forward, timid as could be.

"Simon and I truly love each other."

Her eyes were rimmed red, one hand stroking her belly, every word a needle dipped in poison.

I looked at her, then at Simon standing beside her, impatience all over his face.

Everything in my stomach heaved.

Morning sickness.

And disgust.

I bolted into the bathroom and threw up until the world spun.

For three days I'd been waiting for the right moment to show Simon that test.

To tell him we were going to have a baby.

Now it just looked like a colossal joke.

I wiped the sour water from the corner of my mouth and walked back out.

Simon stood in the doorway, his brows drawn tight.

"Andrea, are you done making a scene?"

"The baby in her belly isn't well, and you insist on upsetting her right now?"

Right on cue, Yvette let out a cry of pain.

"Simon, my stomach hurts so much..."

He rushed straight back to the bed and steadied her, tense.

"Yvette, what's wrong? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

Soft, gentle. A tenderness I had never once seen from him.

The blood in me went cold all over.

Yvette used to corner me in the women's restroom with a group of people.

They'd torn at my clothes and filmed it on their phones.

And Simon had stood in the doorway, watching it all with cold eyes.

Now this woman was carrying his child, lying in my bed.

And my husband was demanding to know why I couldn't behave.

Something sweet and metallic rose in my throat.

I said nothing. I turned and ran into the kitchen.

When I came back out, there was a fruit knife in my hand.

Simon's face changed in an instant.

"Andrea! What are you doing! Put the knife down!"

Yvette shrieked in terror and shrank into Simon's chest.

"Simon, I'm so scared, she wants to kill me, kill our baby!"

Baby.

That word set me off completely.

I raised the knife and lunged at Simon, past caring about anything.

"Simon, I'll kill you!"

The blade never touched him.

Slap.

A sharp, ringing blow to my face.

My whole head snapped to the side, and I crashed onto the cold floor.

My ears were ringing.

Half my face went numb fast, then burned raw.

Simon stood over me, his eyes full of loathing.

"You're nothing but a goddamn lunatic!"

Blood slid from the corner of my mouth, dripped onto the floor, and spread into a small red bloom.

I looked at that red, and suddenly I was laughing.

Right. I was a lunatic.

I'd gone mad the day I fell in love with you, back in school.

I braced myself against the floor and stood up, unsteady.

Simon instinctively stepped back, shielding Yvette more completely behind him.

He was guarding himself against me.

I looked at him and said it, one word at a time.

"Simon, we're getting divorced."

He froze.

Yvette froze too.

They'd probably both assumed I'd keep raging, keep throwing a fit.

Simon frowned. "Don't use divorce to threaten me."

"I'm not threatening you."

Calmly, I walked into the bedroom, ignored the disgusting pair on the bed, and dragged my suitcase out of the closet.

I packed my clothes into it, piece by piece.

Not fast, but without a single pause.

Simon just stood there, watching me.

Only when I zipped the suitcase shut did he speak.

"Andrea, you really have to do this?"

I ignored him and hauled the suitcase toward the door.

As I passed him, he grabbed my wrist.

"Where are you going?"

"Let go."

"It's the middle of the night. Where's a woman like you going to go?"

There was a faint, irritated charity in his tone.

I shook his hand off.

"Wherever I go, it's none of your business."

I opened the door and walked out without looking back.

The moment the elevator doors closed, I heard Yvette's delicate voice.

"Simon, Andrea really left... it's all my fault..."

Simon's voice was cold.

"Don't worry about her. Crazy woman. Let her cool off, that's all."

I leaned against the cold wall of the elevator, shaking all over.

Dragging my suitcase, I went to my parents' house.

It was the closest place, and the only one I could think of.

I rang the doorbell.

My mother answered.

The moment she saw me, and the suitcase in my hand, her face went dark.

"What are you coming back here for?"

My lips moved, but before I could get a word out,

she saw the swollen half of my face.

Her expression turned even uglier.

"Did you and Simon get in a fight?"

"Dragging a suitcase home in the middle of the night. Have you no shame!"

She blocked me in the doorway, with no intention of letting me in.

My father sighed inside and came out.

"Let her in first."

Only then did my mother grudgingly step aside.

My father looked at my face, his brows knitting.

"Andrea, how could you be so rash?"

"Whatever it is between a husband and wife, you can talk it out. You completely lost your composure."

I stood in the living room like a criminal on trial.

One of them accused me of shaming them, the other criticized me for losing control.

Not one of them asked whether it hurt.

Not one of them asked what had happened.

The test in my bag felt like a branding iron pulled from the fire, scorching an ache into my chest.

Suddenly it all struck me as absurd.

I turned and dragged my suitcase back toward the door.

My mother panicked.

"Where are you going now!"

"I'm leaving."

"If you leave, where do we put our faces! What are we supposed to tell his family!"

My father spoke too. "Andrea, don't be willful."

I stopped and looked back at them.

"From today on, I don't have a home."

With that, I opened the door and walked out, resolute.

Behind me came my mother's furious cursing.

I couldn't hear any of it anymore.