Chapter 1

My best friend was fighting a divorce case, so I had my lawyer husband help her out.

She had nowhere else to stay, so I rented her our empty unit across the hall, cheap.

On my wedding day, I pressed the bouquet into her arms. "May you find happiness again," I told her.

The words would come back to haunt me like a curse.

She started drifting through my kitchen every morning in a silk nightgown, and Alan Gordon would hand her a cup of warm milk.

In the evenings, he'd come out of her apartment with his shirt half unbuttoned, still carrying the warmth of a home-cooked meal.

The lady neighbor upstairs grabbed my arm. "Aren't you going to do something about this?"

I forced a smile. "He's just helping her with the case."

Then I saw Lyndis's post on Instagram: [This house is missing a man.]

The photo showed a pair of men's slippers, tags still on.

Same brand, same size as the pair sitting in our own entryway.

That night I tossed and turned while Alan took his pillow and went to sleep in the study.

At two in the morning, I heard the lock turn.

Through the peephole, I watched her door swing shut, warm light spilling out from underneath it.

I stood barefoot on the cold floor and thought back to my wedding day, to the moment I'd handed her that bouquet. Alan's eyes had been on her fingers as she took it from me.

So she really had found her happiness… during my wedding, in my house, with my husband.

Chapter 1

It was five in the morning, and the living room lights were still off.

I sat on the couch with a blanket draped over my knees, never pulled up, never tucked in. From two o'clock until now, I'd shifted position seven times, counting the seconds off the wall clock.

The lock clicked.

Alan pushed the door open. When he saw me, he stopped for a beat.

"Why aren't you asleep?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I asked, "Where were you?"

He bent down to change out of his shoes, his voice carrying across half the living room, flat as if he were reporting on a case file. "Lyndis's ex-husband contacted her. She was scared he might show up at her door, so I went over to keep an eye on things."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"You were asleep."

I smiled, my mouth pulling a little sour at the corners. "I was up all night."

He paused mid-motion, then kept walking in anyway.

My eyes landed on the shoes he'd left by the entryway. I couldn't even make out their color on the soles anymore. From our door to the elevator, and the elevator to hers, the distance was under seventeen feet. However many times he'd walked back and forth, the soles had picked up just as much hallway dust.

"Can you not be so sensitive about this?" He walked over to the coffee table and picked up my glass to take a sip of water.

"You were the one who told me to take her case in the first place. She's your best friend, and she's my client. I'm her lawyer. Looking out for her falls within my job description."

He said it smoothly, like he'd rehearsed it a hundred times.

I looked at his hair, still half damp, the ends clinging faintly to the back of his neck.

Why would he need to shower at her place?

The words stuck in my throat and never came out.

He seemed to sense something and raked a hand through his hair before I could ask, speaking first. "Water splashed on me by accident."

That lie was so friggin bad.

He used to catch on to what I was thinking just as fast.

Once, before I'd even said what I wanted to eat, he'd already had his phone out. "They've got a table free tonight. Wasn't that the place you wanted to try the other day?"

On a rainy day when I'd forgotten my umbrella, his call had come through the second I reached the door. "Don't come out yet. You'll get wet. I'm almost there."

The predawn air seeped in through the gap in the balcony door, thin and cold. It filled my chest until I could barely catch my breath.

His tone suddenly softened. "I've got a hearing today, so let me shower first. It's still early, go lie down since you're up. Don't think too much."

He said it and turned toward the bathroom.

He passed by me, and I caught a gust of something in his wake.

Lemongrass, mixed with a trace of soap.

The same scent as the body wash we kept at home.

I hadn't set foot in the unit across the hall since I'd rented it to Lyndis Lamberg. Even when I saw that post of hers, "This house is missing a man," I'd caught myself scrambling for excuses.

Alan had to go over there often to talk through her case. Maybe she'd bought the same brand of slippers just for his convenience.

But the body wash?

By the time Alan came back out, he'd changed into a suit, his hair blown dry, his tie knotted straight. He hesitated, seeing me still sitting in the living room.

"Mom's coming over today. If you don't feel like cooking, we can take her out instead. Just pick somewhere and let me know."

The door clicked shut behind him.

My mother didn't live far from us. She'd come by a few days every month to cook for me.

She'd called the night before to let me and Alan know, and he'd nodded along. "Sure, Mom. I'll try to get home early tomorrow."

On my way back from grocery shopping after work, I spotted her from a distance, sitting on a bench in the courtyard garden with Mrs. Larsen from upstairs.

Mrs. Larsen had a voice sharp enough to carry through several trees.

"Your son-in-law really has it made, doesn't he? A cozy setup with his wife, and he's keeping another one right across the hall. Like some rich man out of an old story, two wives living under the same roof."

My mother's face went pale. "What are you talking about? That's just the tenant across the hall."

"Tenant? A woman who wanders over in her nightgown every day and doesn't come out until midnight, and you call that a tenant?"

My mother swatted at the air near her twice, making a show of clicking her tongue. "Don't say such things, don't say such things. I should get back; the food's probably ready."

She hurried off, stumbling a couple of times, nearly losing her footing.

I wanted to go after her. Instead, I stood frozen where I was.

Chapter 2

The plastic bags cut into my knuckles, the groceries dragging my wrists sore. Wind swept through the stairwell and hit my face, cold.

It took me a long moment before I made myself move.

When I got home, my mother was standing at the sink washing dishes, the faucet running. The apron tied around her waist had come out in a lopsided knot, and her spine stuck out sharper than it used to. She'd lost weight.

I thought back to a while ago, when Lyndis had just moved in. My mother had made a pot of beef stew and ladled some into a container for me to bring over, saying, "She's got it rough too."

I'd asked when she and Lyndis had gotten so close.

She'd wiped her hands. "Alan has her over sometimes for meals. She told me she lost her mother young, and now she doesn't have a husband either. It just breaks my heart to see it."

I was still turning that over when she turned around, her eyes red-rimmed. She saw me and swiped a wet hand across her face.

She came over and took the grocery bags from me without a word, her head down.

"Why didn't you say something when you got home? And you went and bought more groceries. I've already got most of it done."

She set the food out on the table. Five dishes and a soup, two sets of cutlery laid out. She'd just sat down when she stood back up again and grabbed a third set.

"Is Alan off work yet?"

I pulled out my phone and called him. It rang three times.

"When are you coming home? Mom's finished cooking."

There was a pause on the other end. Then I heard the rustle of a menu being flipped, and another voice, soft, its tail lifting at the end.

"Alan, I've never been to this place before. Anything you'd recommend?"

It was Lyndis.

Alan covered the receiver, his voice muffled. A few seconds later he came back. "Tell Mom I'm sorry, something came up with the case. I might be late."

I hung up.

The screen showed the call had lasted thirty-one seconds. The steam off the food thinned out, and a film of grease settled over the surface of the soup.

My mother sat across from me, staring at the third set of cutlery. After a moment, she reached over, picked it up, and carried it into the kitchen, setting it down on the counter with a clink against the quartz.

She walked back and sat down, dropping a piece of beef stew into my bowl.

The meat settled against the rice, oil seeping in and leaving a small dark ring.

"Eat up. Don't wait for him. I won't let my daughter go hungry."

I lowered my head and picked up my bowl.

That evening, I walked my mother home.

She moved slowly, and at the entrance to her building, she turned back to look at me. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, then swallowed it back down. She patted the back of my hand and turned to go inside.

I walked back slowly, the wind cold at the mouth of the alley.

Just as I turned the corner near our complex, under a streetlamp, I saw Alan shoving a man back and forth, with Lyndis trying to pull them apart.

The man was Lyndis's ex-husband. I'd met him before. He used to be thinner than this. Now he reeked of alcohol and could barely stand upright, his finger jabbing so close to Alan's face it nearly touched his nose.

"You've been sleeping with my wife this whole time, and you're still putting on this whole show of playing the noble lawyer? Trying to make her look like the victim so you can help her walk off with everything in the divorce? Give me a break!"

Alan turned his face away. "You're drunk."

"I'm drunk?" Her ex-husband dug a photo out of his pocket and shoved it up against Alan's cheek, his voice booming. "Take a good look! This was the night of your wedding, wasn't it?"

He flung the photo at Alan's face as he said it. It fluttered to the ground and, caught by the wind, slid across the pavement to land at my feet.

Lyndis followed the direction the photo had flown in and went pale.

"Becky..."

Alan saw me too. He took a half step forward, then stopped, his eyes flooding with panic.

"Becky, it's not what you're thinking."

He tried to come toward me, but Lyndis's hand was locked around his arm, her fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeve. He glanced at the man in front of him, then back at me, and didn't move.

I bent down and picked up the photo.

A hotel corridor, lit dim and yellow by a wall lamp. Alan had Lyndis pressed against the wall.

She was wearing the bridesmaid dress I'd picked out for her, champagne-colored, the skirt rumpled. His tie hung loose over his shirt, undone.

That morning, he'd asked me if his tie was crooked while he tied it. I'd stood on my toes in my wedding gown to straighten it for him, telling him he was too old to still need help with something like that.

In the photo, his forehead was tipped down, resting against hers, the same way it had rested against mine that day.

A timestamp ran across the bottom right corner.

Last year. My wedding night. One-oh-three in the morning.

Chapter 3

That night he'd told me, "A friend had too much to drink, I'm going to book them a couple of rooms."

I waited until three in the morning before he came home.

I stood under the streetlamp and didn't move.

Lyndis's ex-husband was still shouting, spit flying as he pointed first at her, then at Alan.

"You two have been at this for a while now, haven't you, and you're still playing the victims? I'm only filing for divorce because I found out you were cheating on me!"

He turned to face me, a grin spreading across his mouth.

The stench of alcohol reached me even from several steps away.

"Your wife's an idiot too, isn't she, helping deliver your mistress right to your door. Wanting both of them and getting away with it. Must feel pretty good."

Lyndis was crying, her hand still clutching Alan's sleeve, tears streaming down her face.

"Shut your damn mouth!"

Alan swung a punch. The ex-husband threw an arm up to block it, and the two of them grappled, tangled together.

I don't know who called the police, but the patrol car got there fast, its lights flashing as it pulled up outside the complex gate. Several windows lit up along the building, curtains pulled aside for a better look.

Both men were loaded into the squad car. Alan looked back at me as they pushed him in, straining against the grip on his arm.

"Becky, wait for me. I'll explain everything."

I didn't say anything.

The car door shut. The lights spun twice, red and blue, and then it pulled away.

Lyndis stood rooted where she was, her shoulders shaking with sobs. She looked over at me once, her lips moving, but no sound came out.

I turned and headed upstairs.

Inside the elevator, the numbers ticked up one by one. When I reached our floor, the hallway lights were on, and I walked over to the door across from ours.

I dug the spare key out of my bag, slid it into the lock, and turned it twice. It was the first time I'd ever used that key.

I pushed the door open. The living room lights were off, so I flicked them on and stepped inside.

A pair of dark gray slippers sat on the floor, far newer than the pair we had at home.

I walked further in. A matching storage rack stood by the entertainment console, the same brand as ours. A pair of matching mugs sat on the dining table. Matching seasoning jars lined the kitchen counter, labels still on, never peeled off.

I recognized every one of them. They were all things I'd picked out myself when we furnished our new place.

That pair of mugs hadn't started out matching, either. Alan had thought one was enough, and I'd only grabbed a single mug. He'd picked up a second one in a different color at checkout, muttering that we might as well have a backup in case one broke, and after that he'd just started using it like it was his.

I'd picked out the seasoning jars too. I remembered standing in front of the shelf, picking up every color to look it over, while he leaned against the shopping cart and said it wouldn't affect my cooking anyway, that everything I made tasted good no matter what color the jar was.

I closed my eyes for a moment and kept walking.

The drawer under the coffee table hadn't been shut all the way, an envelope's edge poking out. I pulled it open. Inside was a bank card with a sticky note attached.

Written in black marker: Rent comes out of this.

It was Alan's handwriting. The card was his too. The adhesive on the note had already dried stiff, the corners yellowed.

I stared at those words for a while, then pushed the drawer shut.

The bedroom door was left ajar. I walked in.

There was no giant wedding portrait like the one we had at home, but a frame stood on the nightstand, and beside it, a clear glass vase held a bundle of dried roses, a champagne-colored ribbon wound around the stems.

I recognized that ribbon.

I picked up the frame. Light brown wood, the frame worn smooth at the edges.

There were only two people in the photo.

She stood right beside Alan, pressed close, smiling wide. In her hands, she held the bouquet I'd given her.

I remembered exactly what the original photo looked like. On my wedding day, the three of us had stood in front of the flower wall, Lyndis in her bridesmaid dress between me and Alan, one arm looped through mine, the other brushing his. All three of us had been smiling.

I hadn't thought anything of it at the time. A bridesmaid taking a photo with the couple was nothing out of the ordinary.

Looking at it now.

She was in her gown, he was in his suit, arranged exactly like our wedding portrait.

Except my half had been cut away, the edge still rough where the scissors had gone through.

A strip of frosted tape was stuck to the back of the wooden frame, a line written across it in ballpoint pen, a little sloppy, the same handwriting as the note on the bank card.

[Our first day together.]

I hadn't noticed Lyndis standing in the bedroom doorway. Her tear tracks had dried, but her lips were still trembling. "Becky, I never meant to keep this from you," she started.

I set the frame back down before she could finish. The wooden base knocked against the nightstand with a dull thud.

I turned to face her.

"You don't need to pay rent anymore. I'm selling the place. You have two days to move out."

She opened her mouth. I walked right past her.

Back in my own apartment, I stepped inside and locked the door behind me.

My phone screen was lit up with more than a dozen messages, all from Alan. I didn't open any of them.

I opened my contacts, found the entry saved as "Husband," tapped edit, and typed in "Alan Gordon" instead. Saved.

I dug through my photo album until I found the picture from my wedding day, the three of us together, the version from before I'd been cut out, and sent it to him.

[This won't get in the way of you helping her with the case. Let's file for divorce. We'll get it done before your anniversary with her, so you'll still have time for a proper wedding.]

[You can sleep across the hall tonight. That's your home too, isn't it?]

I sent it and turned my phone off.

Outside, the light was still on across the hall.

I drew my own curtains shut, both layers closing tight, blocking out every trace of light.

For the first time, I was grateful for how soundproof this apartment was.

I couldn't hear a thing.

Chapter 4

Early the next morning, I got up and pushed open my bedroom door.

In the living room, Alan and Lyndis sat side by side on the couch. His left cheekbone was bruised, a scab of dried blood at the corner of his mouth, his shirt collar rumpled, still the same one from the night before.

Lyndis sat close beside him, shoulders hunched, a wad of tissue crushed in her hand.

They both looked up at the same time.

"What, one home isn't enough for you two anymore? Now you want me to hand this one over too?"

Lyndis shot to her feet. "It's not like that, Becky, this was all a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding." I repeated the word back to her. "Yesterday you told me you didn't want to keep it from me anymore, and today it's a misunderstanding? So what I saw across the hall yesterday, that was all just a dream I made up?"

Tears spilled down Lyndis's face. She pressed the tissue against them, and it was soaked through in seconds.

"All of that was just me being one-sided about it...

"I was the one with feelings for him. My marriage fell apart, and he was kind to me, so I... we never actually did anything."

She finished and glanced over at Alan.

Alan sat with his elbows braced on his knees, staring down at the floor, his voice hoarse.

"It really was a misunderstanding. That photo that you saw, I was just walking Lyndis back to her hotel room that night. She'd had too much to drink and lost her footing, so I caught her, and it just happened to look like that from that angle.

"Her ex-husband staged it on purpose, to make it look like she was cheating so he could walk off with more in the settlement."

"Fine." I looked at him. "What about the rent? And the framed photo? And that 'our first day together' written on the back?"

Lyndis cut in before he could answer. "I borrowed the rent money from him. Things have been tight with the divorce dragging on.

"And the writing on the back of that photo, that was something Alan originally wrote for you, because that day really was the first day of your marriage. I just... I stole it and kept it for myself.

"It's my fault, Becky. I never meant for it to turn into this. I didn't want your relationship to fall apart because of me. I'm sorry."

I caught the way Alan tilted his head, just slightly, glancing at Lyndis, his jaw tightening for a beat.

Concern.

I recognized that look.

I couldn't help but laugh. "The two of you managed to work all that out in one night. Impressive.

"But Alan, you're really not much of a man, are you?"

He jerked his head up. "Becky! What exactly have I done wrong? You know how hard the divorce has been on Lyndis.

"I was just trying to help her out, given how close you two are. What's wrong with that? How is that my fault? I haven't cheated on you!"

"You haven't cheated on me?"

I looked at him.

"You paid another woman's rent behind my back, and that's not cheating?

"You went to her place and showered before you ever came home, and that's not cheating?

"You knew perfectly well she had feelings for you. Your apartment across the hall is decorated with everything you personally like, there's a photo of the two of you together on display, and you didn't stop any of it. You looked like you enjoyed it. That's not cheating?"

"I..."

"None of that counts as cheating to you? Then what does?"

"I never even knew that photo existed!" He stood up. "I've never once been in her bedroom!"

"I never said the photo was in her bedroom."

The living room went completely silent.

Alan's mouth opened, then closed. His jaw was tight, his throat working up and down.

"You're really going to do this?" He stared at me, the bruise on his cheekbone making his expression look almost menacing. "You're really going to end everything we've built over all these years, over nothing but baseless assumptions?"

"Alan, you're the one who ended it. Not me.

"You're currently helping Lyndis with her divorce case. If you don't want to get pulled into a divorce of your own on top of it, you'll get the paperwork done with me as soon as possible.

"Think about Lyndis's reputation. Think about your reputation as a lawyer. If you won't choose, I'll choose for you."