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I stared at the roast chicken growing cold on our dining table, the same way my heart had grown cold watching my husband's eyes light up at the sound of Whitney's ringtone. It was our anniversary dinner—a fact Phillip had apparently forgotten the moment her name flashed across his screen. "Whitney! Hey!" His voice transformed, infused with an eagerness he never showed for me anymore. The fork he'd been using to pick at my carefully prepared meal clattered against his plate. I took a slow sip of wine, trying to swallow down the familiar bitterness rising in my throat. Three years of marriage had taught me exactly what would happen next. "Blue fireworks? For your mountain gathering?" Phillip's eyebrows shot up, but his smile never faltered. "That's fire season, Whit. You know the regulations..." I set my glass down. "Phillip, you can't possibly—" He held up his hand to silence me, turning slightly away. The gesture stung more than any words could have. "I know how much this means to you," he continued, completely ignoring my presence. "I'll figure something out." When he hung up, he was already standing, napkin tossed carelessly beside his half-eaten food. "I