Chapter 1

My husband, William Brooks, had a sudden heart attack at his lover's apartment.

The ambulance came screaming, and the doctor hurried me to sign the surgery consent form.

I looked at William lying pale on the stretcher, and remembered the time three months ago when he said he was on a business trip.

I remembered those cheesy chat logs I'd found on his phone.

I remembered his mom defending him, saying, "All men stray sometimes, dear. Don't make a scene."

The doctor urged. "Ma'am, we need this now. His condition is critical."

I put down the pen and said calmly, "Let's wait. His mother should be here for this."

*****

The phone rang just as I was packing up William's things.

That suitcase he said he'd take for his two-week "project trip" was still sitting by the door, untouched. Three months had passed. I'd wiped the dust off it three times already.

My phone lit up with "Hon" on the screen.

I answered, but it wasn't William. A young woman's voice came through, shaky and tearful, almost panicked.

She said, "Is this Christine? You need to get to Mercy General Hospital right now! It's William... he might not make it."

I didn't say a word.

I knew that voice. Three months ago, I'd heard her voice messages on William's unlocked phone. That sweet, clingy tone, saying his name over and over.

I was packing his clothes for his "business trip" the next day.

My heart went cold, like an icy hand had grabbed it, and my blood turned cold in an instant.

I didn't say anything. I just memorized her number.

Now, that same number was calling me, but this time from William's phone.

"Hello? Are you listening? The doctor says he's had a heart attack and needs a family member to sign for surgery. You need to get here now!" Her voice got shrill when I didn't respond, like she was barking orders at me.

"Address," I said, my voice so calm that it even surprised me.

She paused, thrown off. Then she rushed through the hospital name and how to find the ER.

I hung up, but I didn't leave right away.

I walked over to the entryway and opened the dusty suitcase.

Inside, everything was neatly folded—the shirts and dress pants I'd packed for him, along with his favorite gray sweater.

I took out the sweater, walked to the balcony, and threw it straight down into the dumpster below.

Then I changed my clothes, grabbed my car keys and phone, locked the door, and headed downstairs.

Not once did my hand tremble.

As I drove to the hospital, the city's neon lights streaked past my window, surreal and otherworldly.

I thought of that night three months ago.

I sat in the dark living room, holding his phone, and stayed up all night.

I saw the two plane tickets he'd booked to another city, the hotel check-in records for him and that woman, and endless money transfers between them. The biggest one was 17,000 dollars.

I also saw a message from his mom, Linda Brooks: [Billy, a man needs his fun. Just be discreet. You know how Christine is—so rigid. She'd blow this up into a whole thing. Don't let her ruin your marriage.]

The text almost made me laugh.

I parked in the hospital lot.

Inside, the emergency room lights were blinding. The smell of bleach and cleaner hit me the second the doors slid open.

From a distance, I spotted a young woman in a white dress pacing anxiously outside the emergency operating room. Her makeup was flawless, but her eyeliner was smeared from crying. She looked pretty wrecked.

It was her—the woman from William's phone wallpaper, Laura White.

She saw me and rushed over, grabbing my arm. "What took you so long? The doctor keeps asking for you."

I pulled my arm back.

A doctor in a white coat hurried over, his face full of urgency. "Are you William Brooks' family? He had a heart attack and now needs immediate bypass surgery. Here's the consent form. Please read it and sign if you agree."

He shoved the clipboard and a pen into my hands.

I looked down at William lying on the stretcher. His face was ashen, his lips turning purple, eyes shut tight, and tubes running all over his body.

The man, who always called me "boring," who thought he was so charming—now he just looked like a fish gasping on a dock.

Laura was urging me, her voice choked with tears. "What are you waiting for? Sign it. Do you want him to die?"

The doctor frowned. "Ma'am, we don't have time. You need to decide now."

I picked up the pen.

The tip hovered above the signature line, barely touching the paper.

I thought of Laura's syrupy voice, saying, "William."

I thought of Linda's text: [A man needs his fun.]

I thought of William's message to Laura: [Don't mind my wife. She's a bore.]

Slowly, I placed the pen down on the clipboard.

Then I looked up at the doctor, my voice quiet but unusually clear in the noisy hallway.

"Let's wait. His mother should be here for this," I said.