Chapter 1

I stared into my whiskey sour, watching the ice cubes melt and blur like my future. Seven years. Seven fucking years of my life, and Ryan had ended it all with a text message while I was at work: *It's not you, it's my career. I need space to focus on my professional growth.*

The dim lighting of Roxie's Bar mercifully hid most of my puffy eyes as another tear slid down my cheek.

"That spineless, gel-haired corporate puppet," Chloe fumed beside me, her third martini sloshing dangerously as she gestured. "Who breaks up with someone after seven years with a goddamn text? Did he even give you a real explanation?"

I shook my head, the movement sending a dull throb through my temples. The bar's ambient music seemed to pulse with my headache, the bass line matching my heartbeat.

"Just that he 'needs to prioritize his career trajectory' and 'we want different things now.'" My voice cracked on the last word. "Seven years, Chloe. I thought he was going to propose this year."

Chloe's face softened as she squeezed my hand. "Maddie, I hate to say this, but maybe... maybe it's for the best. You deserve someone who—"

"Don't," I whispered, cutting her off. "I can't hear the silver lining speech right now. I just need to feel this."

My phone buzzed on the sticky bar top. I glanced down, hoping irrationally that it was Ryan coming to his senses. Instead, it was my boss asking if I could come in early tomorrow. I switched it to silent and slid it into my purse.

"You know what the worst part is?" I said, tracing the rim of my glass. "I grew up watching my dad cheat on my mom over and over. I swore I'd never be with someone like that. I thought Ryan was different. I thought we were solid."

Chloe's eyes flashed with something—hesitation?—before she downed the rest of her martini. "Let's get you home. Oliver's probably wondering where his dinner is."

The mention of my tabby cat brought the first genuine smile to my face in hours. "At least someone still needs me."

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My apartment felt hollow without Ryan's things. He'd moved out while I was at work yesterday, taking half our life together and leaving dust outlines on shelves and walls. I dropped my keys in the empty ceramic bowl he'd made in that pottery class we took last Valentine's Day.

"Oliver?" I called out, flicking on the lights. Usually, my orange tabby would come trotting at the sound of my voice, but tonight, silence answered me.

I kicked off my heels and padded to the kitchen to fill his food bowl. The refrigerator hummed too loudly in the empty space. Seven years of building a home, and in two days, it had become just an apartment again.

My phone buzzed in my purse. Probably Chloe checking if I'd made it home safely. I pulled it out, then froze at the message on my screen.

*Mama? Where are you?*

I blinked, certain I'd misread it. The number was unfamiliar. Wrong text, obviously. I was about to delete it when another message appeared.

*I'm scared. Please answer.*

A cold feeling spread through my chest. I was about to block the number when a thought—bizarre and impossible—flashed through my mind.

"Oliver?" I whispered into the empty apartment.

A soft thump answered me as my orange tabby leapt onto the kitchen counter, his amber eyes fixed on me with unusual intensity. He meowed once, then jumped gracefully into my lap as I sank onto a kitchen chair.

*Don't play dumb—he's cheating!*

The voice wasn't audible; it resonated directly in my mind, clear as a bell and distinctly male, with a hint of feline impatience. I jerked backward, nearly toppling the chair, as Oliver maintained perfect balance on my knees.

"What the fuck?" I gasped, staring into those intelligent amber eyes.

*Language, Mama,* came the reply in my head. *We need to talk about the woman Ryan's been bringing to our home. The one who wears the perfume that smells like dying flowers.*

My heart stopped, then restarted at double speed. Either I was having a psychotic break from the stress of my breakup, or my cat was talking to me. And telling me that Ryan—

"Cheating?" I whispered, my voice barely audible even to myself.

Oliver's tail swished once, decisively. *For months. In our bed. While you worked late.*

The room seemed to tilt around me as Oliver's impossible words sank in. My cat was talking to me. And he knew exactly why Ryan had really left.