Chapter 2

My fingers tremble around the phone. Before I can answer, the ringing dies. Three rings. Cut off.

A second later, another phone rings.

Hers.

She swipes to answer on speaker without thinking, and his voice pours into the room.

"Hey, baby. Class done?"

I stop breathing.

"There's a storm coming. Don't move. I'm coming to get you."

She giggles, scolding him. "Babe, no. You have that big meeting today. I'll just grab a cab."

"Not a chance," Sterling says. His voice is warm, possessive, the way it used to be in my kitchen at midnight. "No meeting matters more than you. I'm not letting you go home alone in this."

The call ends. The other women start teasing her about how lucky she is.

I sit very still.

Year one of our marriage, I worked a night shift on top of my day job. No matter how late I got off, Sterling would be waiting outside. I'd tell him to sleep, that I felt awful dragging him out of bed.

He'd pull me into his chest and laugh.

"Sleep? Not a chance. I don't care how tired I am. I'm not letting you go home alone."

Back then, I thought I'd marry this man a hundred times over.

Now he's saying the same words, in the same voice, to someone else.

My vision blurs, then sharpens.

My phone buzzes.

[Star: Babe, last-minute overtime. Can't make it home tonight. I'll come next time.]

[Star: Drive safe in the rain. Take care of yourself.]

Three years ago, he took a delivery route in another city. Said he could earn more there. Said once he saved enough for a down payment, he'd come home and buy us a real house. A real life.

I believed him. I waited. We saw each other a few times a month, if that. I held onto every promise like it was sacred.

Working overtime. He's used that line so many times I lost count. And every time, I forgave him. Sometimes I cried for him. For how hard he was working. For us.

Five years of waiting. Five years of saving up hope.

And what was waiting on the other end?

Another wife. Another house. Another life.

He built me a fairy tale he never planned to make real. He's never going to tell me who he actually is. Because in his real life, there's no room for me.

My eyes drift down to her bump.

"How… how far along are you?"

She rubs her stomach, and her whole face softens.

"Just past five months." She tilts her head. "I don't think we've met. Are you new? I'm Evelyn Lockwood. Call me Evie."

Evie.

Late-night phone calls. Evie in his contacts. He told me she was a pushy boss. I never questioned it.

Someone elbows me. "She asked your name, hon. You with us?"

I lift my chin.

"Aria."

Evelyn's eyebrows twitch a little.

"Aria? Pretty."

A woman squints at the lipstick still in Evelyn's lap, then sucks in a breath.

"Wait—look at the bottom of the lipstick. Is that… an A engraved there?"

The room goes quiet.

Every single eye lands on me.