Chapter 1

I was sitting in the passenger seat of my husband James Stone's SUV when I found a hand-knitted cashmere scarf.

It belonged to Callie Yale, his student, his secret crush.

He glanced at it and explained, "It's cold. Callie made one for everyone in the studio."

I fingered the delicate embroidered letter J in the corner of the scarf, his initial.

Callie really didn't mind making her feelings known to the world.

Calmly, I folded the scarf and placed it back in the storage compartment, giving him a polite smile.

"It's fine. No need to explain," I said softly.

I knew all the women in James's circle. Callie was the only one who liked this specific shade of gray cashmere and actually knew how to knit like this.

Because of her, I had fought with James countless times, even threatening divorce more than once.

It wasn't until I miscarried and lay on that cold operating table that he finally relented, promising me he would never meet with Callie alone again.

When he saw my nonchalant expression now, James's fingers tightened imperceptibly around the steering wheel.

His brows drew together.

Unable to hold it in any longer, he turned to study my face and demanded, "Aurora, do you really not care at all?"

Care?

Any capacity I had to care died the day I clutched my bleeding stomach and called him thirty-seven times without a single answer, all so he could stay on the phone comforting Callie after a professor tore apart her final project.

It died on that cold, rainy night, right along with our unborn child.

Now, I truly didn't care anymore.

*****

The heat in the car was turned up so high that the air felt thick and almost suffocating.

James's question lingered in the air, tense as a string pulled tight.

I didn't bother answering his stupid question. I just unbuckled my seatbelt.

"Home," I said, pushing the car door open. The winter wind slapped me in the face, clearing my head a little.

James followed me out, his tall frame casting an oppressive shadow over me.

"Aurora." His voice was sharp with impatience and anger, like my calm was some kind of challenge.

He strode over and grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight it felt like he might crush my bones.

"What the hell is wrong with you today?" he snapped.

I finally woke up for real. I looked up at him, my eyes cool and unwavering.

The amber glow of the streetlamp carved out the sharp contours of his profile, the face I had once loved with reckless abandon.

I had loved him so deeply that I walked away from my burgeoning career as a textile artist. I traded my studio for a kitchen, my ambition for apron strings, all to play the role of the perfect suburban wife.

I loved him even knowing Callie was always hovering nearby, waiting for her chance. I kept fooling myself, again and again. I loved him until I lost our child, lost myself, and became someone even I couldn't recognize or stand.

"I'm fine," I replied quietly, my tone so casual it could've been about the weather. "Just a bit tired."

I glanced down at his hand clamped around my wrist. I didn't pull away, just looked at it, calm and detached.

Something in my stare carried a silent weight, and James let go instantly, as if he'd touched a live wire.

For a moment, confusion and panic flickered across his face.

In the past, whenever he showed even a hint of impatience, I would immediately soften, apologizing with red-rimmed eyes or becoming more hysterical, questioning whether he really loved me.

But today, I was calm, cold. It was the first time I'd ever been like this.

"Tired?" he repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth like he was savoring its hidden meaning. "All because of a scarf?"

He let out a mocking laugh, going right back to his usual condescending tone.

"Aurora, how long are you going to keep making a scene? Callie is just my student. I've told you a hundred times. It's nothing but a teacher-student thing."

There he went again with those excuses.

As if all my pain and anger were just me making a fuss over nothing.

I was done arguing with him.

Truth? That stopped mattering a long time ago. What mattered was that my heart was already dead inside.

I walked right past him, went straight to the front door, and entered the code. The lock clicked open, and the door swung wide.

Warm light poured out from the foyer, but none of it reached me inside.

"My mom's coming over for dinner tomorrow," James barked, trailing behind me as he swapped his shoes. "Make sure you fix up her favorites. And quit giving me that zombie face, alright?"

With my back to him, I bent down and grabbed my slippers from the shoe cabinet.

"Got it," I murmured, my voice so light it floated into the silence like a feather.

James looked like he wanted to say something else, but in the end, he just tugged at his tie in frustration and headed to his study.

The door slammed shut with a bang, leaving us in two completely separate worlds.

I stood alone in the empty living room, taking in the place I'd once poured my heart into decorating.

Every piece of furniture, every little detail, was all proof of how much I loved him. Now, it just felt like a cruel joke.

I took a deep breath, walked into the kitchen, and opened the fridge. It was packed with fresh ingredients.

Barbara loved Lemon-Butter Roasted Sea Bass, light and delicate.

She also adored Cream of Wild Mushroom Chicken Soup, but only if it was made with free-range chicken from the farm.

I used to memorize every one of those picky demands, even took pride in it, like it was my ticket to being part of their family.

I took out a sea bass and started prepping it. My movements were steady and numb, like a machine programmed for this task, no feeling, no thought, just routine.

My phone buzzed in the pocket of my apron.

I dried my hands and checked the screen. It was a message from my friend, Celina Steele. [I found an apartment near the art museum on the west side, top floor, huge terrace, amazing sunlight. Perfect for your studio.

[I'll go with you to see it tomorrow at 10.]

I tapped back a single word: [Sure.]

Putting my phone down, I looked at the dead fish in the sink and couldn't help but laugh.

Once, I thought leaving James would be the end of me.

But now I get it, staying with him was what was really killing me, bit by bit.

Tomorrow, I get to start over.