Chapter 2

Ten years. We'd been homeless, sleeping under bridges, surviving on a single burger split between us some nights. At our lowest, we'd gone days drinking nothing but water just to stay alive—starving, freezing, but together.

We were too broke for birth control. When I got pregnant, we couldn't even scrape together enough cash for an abortion.

Desperate, I'd thrown myself down a flight of stairs in the freezing snow—anything to make it stop.

I'd endured the agony, cried until I had no tears left, and lost two of our babies—our little ones, gone before they even had a chance.

James had knelt by my hospital bed, driven a knife into his own arm twice, right in front of me—blood pouring down his wrist, his hands shaking as he covered my eyes.

His voice trembled, every word a promise, every syllable sacred.

"Emily, I swear to God—I'll give you the life you deserve. If I ever break your heart, if I ever let you down, may I burn in hell."

I'd believed that promise with every fiber of my being—half my life, I'd clung to it like a lifeline.

But now? He'd thrown it all away for a girl he'd known six months—six lousy months, compared to ten years of blood, sweat, and tears.

I couldn't wrap my head around it. How could someone who'd loved me that deeply, who'd hurt himself for me, just turn around and abandon me like I was nothing?

His phone rang—the same ringtone.

It was the one that'd gone off late at night a hundred times before. Every time, he'd brushed it off, said it was a client, a work call.

I'd trusted him blindly, never once doubted him—not even for a second.

Now I saw how stupid I'd been. How naive, how gullible.

He ignored the call, speaking to me in that calm, patronizing tone—like I was a petulant kid throwing a fit.

"Why are you so hung up on a piece of paper? We've got ten years together—ten years of history. You gonna throw all that away over a marriage license?

"You're not getting any younger, Emily. No family, no job—hell, I'm the only one who'd ever take care of you. Don't make a scene. Or people will talk."

He pulled the car over to the curb, tires screeching softly.

"Grab a taxi home. I'm gonna go pick up my girl. Think about what I said—don't be stupid."

The car door slammed shut, a sharp, stinging blow to the face—louder than any slap.

I watched his car speed away, taillights fading into the distance, and then I collapsed on the side of the road, retching until tears streamed down my cheeks, until my throat burned.

James was full of crap.

Nobody ties the knot legally with someone they just see as a fling—no one.

That marriage license I'd waited ten damn years for? He never even planned to hand it over. Not once.

Love doesn't just fade into thin air. It leaves you high and dry and runs to someone else.

I stared up at the dark, heavy sky, my chest feeling like a hollowed-out shell, aching so bad it hurt to breathe. It was like the wind was blowing straight through me, freezing me from the inside out.

After what felt like an eternity, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number—my last lifeline.

When I got home, James' car was parked right out front.

Through the cracked window, his low, tender, seductive murmurs drifted out—words I'd once been the only one to hear.

"Say 'honey'."

"Honey..." she whispered, soft and sweet.

"Who do you love most, baby?"

"My husband..."

"You're perfect, baby. I'd give you everything—hell, even my life." His voice was so smooth, so fake.

I stood there, my face draining of all color, my heart turning to ice—cold, hard, and unbreakable.

Even with the summer sun blazing down so hot it could melt asphalt, I felt frozen—like I'd been left stranded in the dead of winter, no coat, no hope.

An hour later, James walked in, his arm around a tiny, petite girl.