Chapter 6

I wake up two days later in my room.

Every part of my body hurts, but my ankles are something else entirely. Every time I try to move my ankles, pain shoots straight up both legs, so sharp and deep it takes my breath away.

I lie still and wait for the pain to ease enough for me to think straight.

My phone is beside me. The screen is full of notifications.

All from Delphine.

Photos, videos, one after another.

Roman in an apron in her kitchen, cooking for her.

Roman kneeling at her feet with a basin of warm water.

Roman feeding her, tucking her in, laughing at something she said with his whole face lit up in a way I have never once seen when he's with me.

The two of them at an amusement park in matching outfits, sharing an ice cream cone, his eyes on her like she's the only thing in the world worth looking at.

Three years. Not once had he ever done any of that for me. Not once had he treated me like that.

I put the phone down and bite through the pain until I can sit up.

The divorce papers are in the drawer where I put them weeks ago, already signed on my end, waiting.

I take them out.

Underneath them is the document I brought back from abroad six years ago, a medical report from the night I pulled a man off the docks with nine stab wounds and spent four hours in surgery keeping him alive.

The report lists my injuries. What it cost me to save him.

I set both on the floor in the most visible spot in the room.

Then I drag myself to the window.

It takes a long time. My arms do most of the work.

By the time I manage to get my elbows over the ledge, I'm shaking and soaked through, but I get there. I get there and I look out.

Below, the sea. The villa sits right on the water, and tonight the waves are high and dark and moving fast.

A little ways out, almost too small to notice, a boat waits quietly in the dark. Exactly where I told them to wait.

My phone buzzes.

Roman.

When you're ready to apologize, come to the hospital and do it on your knees. I already put in a word for you. Delphine is generous. She'll forgive you if you mean it.

Another message.

Be reasonable. The wedding photos are tomorrow. I still want to take them with you.

I look at the messages for a long time.

Then I type back.

The biggest mistake I ever made was six years ago, on the docks, pulling some ungrateful bastard out of the water after he'd been stabbed nine times and keeping him alive.

I drop the phone.

I don't look back at the room. I don't look at the papers on the floor.

I jump.

Behind me, the phone on the floor suddenly starts vibrating like crazy.