Chapter 1

When Andrew Reed came to pick me up from the hospital, my best friend, Luna Lynn, was already sitting in the passenger seat.

She still had tear stains on her cheeks, but made no move to give up her spot. "Ivy, I'm really terrified of small spaces. I needed to sit up front with Andrew to get some air. You don't mind, right?"

Andrew, behind the wheel, didn't seem to notice anything strange. He switched topics. "How are you feeling after the termination?"

I clutched the discharge paperwork warning of hemorrhage risk, opened the rear door, and said slowly, "It won't kill me. That's all."

Luna sniffled, grabbed a few tissues, and wiped her cheeks messily. "Ivy, you've always been strong. You'll get through this."

Her eyes burned even redder, her voice thick with a sob. "Not like me. I can't even get over a breakup. That suffocating feeling of being abandoned by the whole world. You have someone who loves you. You wouldn't understand."

I stared at her trembling shoulders, a stabbing, cramping pain twisting in my lower abdomen. Sweat broke out across my forehead.

No one noticed how pale I was.

Luna rolled the window down a bit, then irritably rolled it back up. "It's so stuffy in here. I can't breathe."

Andrew eased off the gas, steering smoothly.

He tilted his head slightly, his voice gentle and understanding. "Luna, that's your body reacting to stress. Try taking a few deep breaths and stay in the moment."

He slipped into the same soothing script he used for calming VIP clients at his clinic.

I curled up in the corner of the back seat, my fingers digging into the seams of the leather. Pain radiated through my nerves.

I fumbled in the storage compartment for the spare gray checkered blanket, pulled it out, and wrapped myself tight.

Andrew must've caught my trembling in the rearview mirror.

He reached out with his right hand toward the AC dial. "Let's turn it up a couple of degrees. Ivy had surgery. She's sensitive to the cold."

Before his fingers could touch the dial, Luna reached out and stopped him.

She pressed hard on the back of Andrew's hand. "Don't touch it. I'm breaking out in cold sweat, so hot I'm nauseous."

She gazed at Andrew with pleading eyes, tears threatening to spill over.

Andrew froze.

He didn't pull his hand away from Luna.

His slender, pale hand naturally turned and rested gently atop hers.

He gave her hand a couple of gentle, reassuring pats, then let his hand linger on her warm skin, never pulling away.

"Alright, I won't touch it," he said softly, giving in.

The car fell into a heavy silence.

Luna lowered her lashes, but the corners of her mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

Wrapped in my thin blanket, my gaze locked onto those two hands intertwined in the front seat.

Back then, the passenger seat was mine and mine alone.

Andrew used to speak to me in that gentle, patient voice, planning which color play mat we'd put in the nursery.

After her heartbreak, Luna moved back from overseas.

She moved into my house under the guise of severe depression, brazenly taking over that room.

And just like that, the boundaries between the three of us rotted away by Luna's endless "crisis interventions."

I closed my eyes, crumpled the discharge paperwork into a tight ball, and squeezed it in my fist.

I used to believe this marriage was the only thing keeping me afloat in this city.

But now I finally saw it. I was nothing more than a prop for Andrew to maintain his perfect savior persona.

He was hooked on the twisted satisfaction of being desperately needed.

I was merely a stepping stone under his feet, trampled and discarded, denied even the right to cry out in pain. No retreat. No way out.

The car rolled over a speed bump, the jolt trapping my cry of pain in my throat.

*****

The chill from the car seemed to trail me right through the door.

Andrew walked in without taking off his shoes. He lugged Luna's massive silver suitcase as he pushed open the door to the second bedroom.

I had spent three months decorating that nursery with my own hands.

I pressed a hand to my aching lower back, slumped weakly against the sofa, and stared at the wide-open door.

A heavy, cramping ache dragged deep in my lower abdomen.

I clutched my stomach, my nails scraping against the wall as I forced myself step by step down the hallway.

Luna stood in the doorway, toeing the cotton rug.

The solid wood crib had been pushed into the darkest, most shadowed corner of the room.

The colorful mobile above it was twisted into a tangled mess, drooping at a crooked angle.