Chapter 1

The heat was suffocating, pressing down on me like a physical weight as I struggled with the last of the grocery bags. Ninety-five degrees in Portland was unusual, and our tiny bungalow, with its outdated ventilation system, had transformed into an oven. Sweat trickled down my spine, my cotton blouse clinging uncomfortably to my skin.

"Marcus?" I called out, my voice echoing through the empty hallway. No response, as usual.

I set the milk carton on the counter, fighting a wave of dizziness. The kitchen seemed to tilt sideways, the edges of my vision darkening. I gripped the edge of the counter, willing the sensation to pass.

"Just a few more items," I whispered to myself, reaching for the frozen vegetables. The room spun violently, and suddenly the linoleum floor was rushing up to meet me.

I came to with Tyler's frightened face hovering inches from mine, his small hands patting my cheeks.

"Mommy? Mommy, wake up!" His voice trembled, tears pooling in his wide brown eyes—Marcus's eyes.

"I'm okay, sweetheart," I managed, though the kitchen ceiling continued to swim above me. "Mommy just got too hot."

I struggled to my feet, leaning heavily against the refrigerator, my legs wobbly beneath me. The groceries lay scattered across the floor, the ice cream already melting into a puddle. Tyler whimpered, clutching my leg.

"Where's Daddy?" he asked, his lower lip quivering.

"I don't know, baby." The familiar ache of disappointment settled in my chest. Marcus had promised to be home early today to help with the shopping. Another broken promise in a long line of them.

Somehow, I made it to the couch, collapsing onto the worn cushions. Tyler, my sweet boy, brought me a dish towel he'd wet under the faucet. It was dripping all over the carpet, but I thanked him and pressed it to my forehead, fighting back tears of gratitude for his kindness.

"Can you bring Mommy her phone, Tyler? It's in my purse."

As he scampered off, I closed my eyes, willing the room to stop spinning. Heat exhaustion. I recognized the symptoms from my college first aid course. I needed water, rest, and cool air—none of which seemed particularly accessible at the moment. Our ancient air conditioner had broken down last week, and Marcus had insisted we couldn't afford to repair it yet.

Tyler returned with my phone, and I sent a quick text to Marcus: *Passed out in kitchen. Heat exhaustion. Please come home.*

No immediate response. I wasn't surprised.

I shifted on the couch, turning toward the window that overlooked our shared driveway. The movement sent another wave of dizziness through me, but as it cleared, I froze.

Marcus's silver Audi was pulling into the driveway. He was home. Relief washed over me, quickly followed by confusion as I realized he wasn't alone. Isabella Rodriguez, our neighbor from three doors down, sat in the passenger seat, her glossy dark hair catching the sunlight.

I watched, the ice pack growing warm against my skin, as Marcus circled to open her door with a flourish I hadn't seen him use for me in years. They were laughing, her hand resting casually on his arm in a gesture that seemed practiced, familiar.

Marcus led her toward the covered parking area at the end of our shared driveway—the one he'd insisted we couldn't afford when I'd asked about it last winter, when I'd had to scrape ice off my windshield in the freezing dark before taking Tyler to preschool.

With a theatrical gesture, Marcus unveiled a reserved parking sign, complete with an elegant monogrammed "IR" in a designer font. Isabella squealed with delight, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Happy birthday, beautiful," I heard him say, his voice carrying through the open window.

The ice pack slipped from my nerveless fingers as the world I thought I knew began to fracture around me.