Chapter 1

Ten years into our marriage, I ranked lower in Edward Grant's heart than a single strand of Vivian Rivers's hair.

When Vivian got sick, Edward flew across half the country overnight to be with her. When she returned from abroad, he dropped a contract signing to pick her up at the airport. On our wedding anniversary, he celebrated her birthday.

When I handed Edward the divorce papers, he frowned and said, "Stop it. Vivian's only my little sister."

I transcended to the day before marrying Edward. In the hospital corridor, he was shielding Vivian behind him and said coldly to me, pregnant with his child, "Move. She's afraid of blood."

This time, I smiled. I stepped aside and, right in front of him, dialed the OB-GYN. "Hello, I'd like to schedule an abortion for tomorrow."

Since I was never going to warm Edward's heart, then this child, this marriage, I didn't want any of it.

*****

The day Helen Shaw died, rain hammered against the window. This wasn't some dreamy drizzle or poetic mist; it was a violent storm, pounding the ground so hard that water splashed everywhere.

Helen lay sprawled on the icy floor, doubled over from the agony in her stomach, curled up tight like a shrimp. Her fingers clawed at the cracks between the tiles, nails bent back, and blood oozed into the pale gray grout.

Her phone was 3 feet away.

The chat window was still open, Helen's last message still lingering on the screen: [Edward, my stomach hurts so much. Can you come home?]

The blue ticks showed that the message had been seen. But there was no reply.

An hour earlier, Helen had scrolled past Vivian's Instagram post. There were nine photos, tagged at Lakeview Park. The last one showed two silhouettes; Helen would know that outline anywhere, even with her eyes closed. It was Edward.

The caption read: [Remember when you promised to watch the snow with me every year as kids? Rain's not so bad either. @Edward]

Helen stared at that post for so long that her phone screen went dark, then lit up again, then went dark once more.

In ten years of marriage, Edward never once took her to see the snow.

The year they got married, Helen asked if they could honeymoon in Northville, but Edward said he was too busy.

The next year, Helen asked to go to WhitePeak Mountain, but Edward said he didn't have time.

By the third, fourth, fifth year... Helen gave up asking.

Just a single word from Vivian, Edward would drop everything to fly overnight to Lakeview Park.

But when Helen was suffering alone at home, all Edward did was see her message.

Helen let out a faint smile, barely tugging at the corners of her lips, but tears slipped down her face.

She struggled to her feet, leaning against the wall as she made her way to the study. At the bottom of the drawer lay the divorce papers she drew up three years ago. Edward had glanced at them once, then tossed them to the floor.

"You're crazy," Edward had said.

Those words were so dismissive, like he was shooing away a clueless pet.

Helen never threw them away. She didn't know what she was waiting for.

Helen pulled out the divorce papers. The pages were yellowed, and the edges curled. She flipped to the last page; the section for the second party was still blank.

She took a fountain pen from the holder and twisted off the cap.

The rain outside grew even fiercer, the sound drowning out the whole city. Helen gripped the pen, her hand shaking so badly she couldn't tell if it was from the pain or something else.

Stroke by stroke, she wrote down: [Helen Shaw.]

After Helen wrote her name, it felt like every bit of strength had left her. She collapsed into the chair, utterly exhausted. Blood ran down her leg, soaking her pants and the cushion, falling to the floor, drop by drop.

She stared at the blood pooling beneath her, and out of nowhere, memories of her first pregnancy came flooding back.

It was a year after their wedding. When Helen saw those two lines on the pregnancy test, her hands trembled with excitement.

She dialed Edward. He told her that he was in a meeting and hung up. That night, when Edward finally got home, Helen handed him the pregnancy test stick. Edward glanced at it, frowned, and asked, "Seriously?"

Helen thought he was so shocked he couldn't process it. The next day, she went to the hospital alone to double-check. When it was confirmed, she couldn't wait to share the news with him.

But all Edward said was, "Yeah, I'm going on a business trip next week. Take care of yourself."

The pregnancy didn't make it. Three months in, Vivian was hospitalized for appendicitis, and Edward told Helen to handle her prenatal check-up on her own.

Those hospital corridors felt endless as Helen queued up, paid, and got her ultrasound. When she finally walked out, she saw other pregnant women with their husbands by their side.

Helen stood at the doorway for what felt like an eternity. That night, she started bleeding.

She called for an ambulance herself, went into the operating room alone, and signed the consent form with no one by her side.

When she woke up from the anesthesia, the nurse asked, "Where's your family?"

Helen shook her head.

She could still remember the nurse's look, pity mixed with a hint of disbelief, as if she was saying, "How could a woman end up so alone?"

Edward didn't show up until the next day. He stood at the doorway of Helen's hospital room, his face grim. "How did you let this happen?" he asked.

Helen looked at him, and suddenly, she didn't have it in her to say anything.

Later, she heard from someone that, that night, Vivian was scared in her hospital room, so Edward spent the whole night by her side.

From then on, Helen knew that she'd never be Edward's first choice. Vivian would always come before her in Edward's heart.

Always.

Helen stared at the blood still flowing beneath her.

She couldn't feel the pain anymore; her whole body felt weightless, as if she might float away. As her mind grew hazy, memories started to blur together.

She remembered the first time she met Edward; it was in the college library. He sat by the window, sunlight hitting his face, making him look almost too perfect to be real.

Helen was spying on him from behind a shelf, but she accidentally knocked over a pile of books, sending them tumbling everywhere. Edward looked up, and their eyes met.

Just that one glance, and Helen fell for him. Ten years, and she never escaped.

Helen remembered their wedding day. Vivian didn't attend, but she sent a handmade scarf as a gift, along with a note: [Edward, happy wedding! Stay warm.]

Edward put the scarf in his suitcase, saying it was a gift from a friend, so he couldn't toss it.

Later, Helen came across that same scarf in their bedroom closet.

She remembered all those countless late nights, waiting for Edward to come home. She'd reheat dinner over and over.

On the rare nights Edward actually showed up, he smelled of alcohol and a perfume Helen didn't recognize. Whenever she asked, he'd brush it off as work.

Helen believed him. Or maybe she made herself believe it.

She remembered every time Edward was distant, every time he dismissed her, every time he put her last without a second thought.

Helen thought that if she loved him enough, put up with enough, waited long enough, maybe Edward would finally notice her.

She was wrong.

When Helen closed her eyes, the last thing on her mind was that if she had another chance, she wouldn't marry Edward.

Then, everything went black.