Chapter 1

My husband was kissing my best friend in his study when I came home with the cake samples for our anniversary dinner.

Bridget had both arms around his neck. When she pulled back, Malcolm kissed her again.

I took a photograph through the partly open door and stepped away.

I'd invited her over to help me plan the dinner. I stood in the hallway with the bakery box, remembering how pleased she'd been when I'd asked.

Then I went outside. When I came back through the front door, I called hello.

Malcolm met me in the hall.

"Bridget's staying until the dinner," he said. "She could help while you're busy with the inn."

Bridget came up beside him and slipped her hand around his arm.

"He said we could finish the arrangements together in the evenings."

Malcolm watched me. "You asked her to help, Jocelyn. Don't make this difficult."

Last summer, he'd spent an entire barbecue with his arm around her. I'd pulled him aside and demanded to know why he couldn't keep his hands off my best friend.

We'd argued until our guests could hear. I'd cried afterward, asking him to tell me I mattered more than she did.

Bridget had held my hand while I told her about it the next morning.

Now her fingers rested on his wrist.

"The guest room across the hall is ready," I said.

Malcolm's mouth opened, then closed.

Bridget looked up at him before turning back to me.

"You won't mind if I keep him up late? I know how much you hate going to bed without him."

I'd told her that over coffee. How lonely it felt, waiting for my own husband to want to come upstairs.

"We'll be working on the dinner," Malcolm said quickly.

"I know. Take as long as you need."

He glanced at the cake box. "Aren't we trying those?"

"You and Bridget can pick the cake," I said.

Malcolm looked at me. "You said you wanted to do this with me."

"I did. You two can choose."

Bridget reached for the box. "Well, I know which one Malcolm likes."

I let her take it.

Malcolm stayed beside me while she carried it into the kitchen.

"You're really all right with this?"

"Yes."

He searched my face as I set my purse down and took off my coat.

"We could drive up to the inn on Sunday," he said. "Have lunch on the way. You always liked that."

He'd courted me on those drives.

When my mother's seaside inn was about to be sold, Malcolm had offered to buy it and hold it for me. Then he'd asked me to marry him.

I'd told him I didn't love him.

He'd wanted to try anyway. We'd agreed on terms with separate lawyers, including when the inn would return to my ownership.

After the wedding, he'd taken me to the coast whenever I missed my mother. He'd remembered her stories and asked me to tell them again.

I'd fallen in love with him. I'd started looking forward to those Sundays all week.

Later, when he'd canceled them to help Bridget with something, I'd argued and cried and tried to make him understand.

Now he was offering one back.

"That's thoughtful," I said.

His shoulders loosened. He put a hand at my waist and leaned down to kiss me.

I bent to pick up my purse.

"I'll look at my schedule."

His hand slipped away. When I straightened, he was still waiting.

I went upstairs.

In our bedroom, I closed the door and opened the email from the lawyer handling the inn.

The handover was scheduled for Friday, before our anniversary dinner. Malcolm's remaining signature was all they needed from him.

I confirmed the appointment.

Then I contacted a divorce attorney, requested a confidential consultation, and attached the photograph.

From the back of my wardrobe, I took out my suitcase.

The old anniversary gift was still beside it, wrapped and unopened. I'd written his name on the tag before spending that evening calling a phone he wouldn't answer.

I packed it beneath my documents.

Downstairs, Bridget laughed. Once, I would've gone down to see what they were doing.

I pushed the suitcase behind the storage boxes at the bottom of my wardrobe.

As soon as the inn was back in my name, I was leaving.

He could spend our anniversary night with her. I wouldn't be waiting for him to come home.