Chapter 1

After my wife, Isabelle Pierce, made up her mind to end the pregnancy, something in me changed.

I stopped sharing little moments with her, stopped caring when she came home, or who she was with.

Even when I found a first-grade textbook in her bag, I didn't even bother to ask.

Isabelle patiently explained, "Matt's son was in a contest, so I just picked him up since it was on my way."

I nodded, barely interested.

But her eyes instantly filled with tears. She grabbed me by the collar, her voice shaking with frustration.

She demanded, "Why don't you even react when I met Matthew?

"I'm your wife! Do you really feel nothing?"

My face burned. All I could manage was a bitter smile.

She never knew.

All those years she called me crazy—that was when I loved her most.

*****

Isabelle finally released her grip on my throat just as I was about to pass out.

I slumped down onto the couch, gasping for breath.

Even though I was the one who'd just been choked out, she looked utterly exhausted and miserable.

"I'll say this one last time. Matthew and I are over," she said, her voice choked with sobs.

"Just stop making a fuss over nothing, alright?" she added.

Making a fuss over nothing?

I just found it laughable.

A year ago, I cried, bitterly begging her to leave Matthew Lane, and she said I was making a fuss over nothing.

Now, a year later, when I couldn't care less about their relationship anymore, she still thought I was making a fuss over nothing.

"Say whatever you want," I said, my voice flat.

I dragged myself up from the couch and gave her a weak smile. "I'm going to bed."

Isabelle just stood there, stunned by how little I cared, like she'd turned to stone.

All her angry words hit me like punches to a pillow—no impact, no reaction.

Late that night, Isabelle quietly opened the guest room door and hugged me from behind, wrapped up in the blanket.

I was completely enveloped by the scent of roses from her.

"Can we just go back to how we were?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Moonlight washed over the room, soft and silent.

Her beautiful face was twisted with pain and conflict, but in her eyes, just beneath all that hurt, a flicker of hope still lingered.

I slipped off my watch, showing her that ugly, jagged scar on my wrist.

She froze.

Scars like this covered my whole arm.

Every single one of them came from those years when depression hit me hardest.

And what was Isabelle doing back then?

She was hell-bent on divorcing me, ditching me and our kid, just to look after Matthew and his son, Ryan Lane.

So I just smiled and met her gaze.

I said quietly but firmly, "No."

We could never, ever go back to how we had been.

I'd never forget the moment I walked into the kitchen and saw my best friend, Matthew, and my wife, Isabelle, wrapped around each other.

It felt like my whole world just came crashing down.

It'd been seven years since Isabelle and I tied the knot.

We'd known each other for two whole decades.

We grew up together, our families were a perfect match, and everyone thought we were the golden couple.

That was what people always said about us.

Honestly, I never thought she'd ever end up with anyone but me.

When we first got married, life felt like a fairytale.

Everything stayed peaceful until Matthew's divorce shattered it.

He was my best friend, settled down before I did, and his marriage always looked perfect. They were the picture of marital bliss.

No one ever imagined his wife, who seemed so gentle and soft-spoken, would ever cheat on him. But she did.

That day, he dragged me out drinking until he ended up with a bleeding stomach. I was so pissed that I wanted to march right over to that bitch's place and slap her silly.

I was the one who begged Isabelle to let Matthew crash at our place for a while.

I was the one who asked Isabelle to help get Ryan into a preschool.

I was the one who pleaded with Isabelle to find Matthew a job—anything to keep him going.

I remember how Isabelle just couldn't stand it back then.

She always hated Matthew's whole spoiled vibe, and she'd vent to me about him whenever she got the chance.

"He's always decked out in red and green. Seriously, from a distance, he looks like a walking Christmas tree," she'd grumble.

So when I was stuck at home recovering from a car accident, a female employee pulled me aside and whispered, "Ms. Pierce is being way too nice to Matthew. Someone saw them making out in the basement."

My first reaction was she was making this up.

Matthew, Isabelle, and I had known each other for over a decade, and they had been bickering for just as long—ever since school. They could barely stand to be in the same room.

If they could manage to have a civil conversation longer than three sentences, that would be a miracle.

Kissing? No way.

But it was like there was a splinter stuck in my heart. No matter how I tried, I just couldn't get rid of it or let it go.

So at dinner one day, I joked about fixing Matthew up with a rebound girlfriend.

Isabelle was the first to set down her fork, frowning at me.

"Just eat and stop meddling," she snapped.

"It's not like he's taking up too much space here," she added.

My heart sank as I looked at Matthew.

He just kept his head down, refusing to meet my eyes.

That was when I noticed that every bite on his plate had been served by Isabelle.

Isabelle and Matthew were sitting so close, with just Ryan squeezed between them. Honestly, they looked more like a picture-perfect family than I ever did with her.

That night, dinner tasted like ash in my mouth.

In a panic, I found myself teetering on the edge of the truth.

But I was too scared to face it. I still couldn't make myself confront the knife held by the people I trusted most.