Chapter 1

I received a photo late at night from a friend named Georgia Rogers.

My husband, Zane Baldwin, had his arm around her waist, and she was leaning on his shoulder, grinning like she owned the world.

The caption read: [Surprise?]

Georgia probably expected me to break down, to cry, maybe even confront her, but I didn't.

I carefully selected nine photos, added a few words, and posted them on Instagram.

Then I turned off my phone and slept like a baby.

When I turned my phone back on the next morning, I had 156 missed calls.

From my husband, Georgia, and our parents.

They all panicked.

Well, I was just getting started.

*****

I woke up exactly seven in the morning as usual.

A faint light leaked through the curtains, leaving the bedroom washed in a chilly, lifeless tone.

I didn't linger in bed. I rose calmly, stepped onto the cool floor with bare feet, and walked into the bathroom.

The mirror reflected a pale face, my eyes hollow and dull.

I spent twenty minutes going through my daily routine, from washing up to skincare, every step carried out with careful precision, as if it were some kind of sacred ritual.

With flawless makeup and carefully chosen clothes, I, Rosalyn Baldwin, was once again the perfect wife in everyone's eyes.

Only then did I pick up the phone I had tossed aside the night before.

I held the power button. The screen came on, and notifications started pouring in all at once.

156 missed calls. Hundreds of messages.

The phone buzzed in my palm, vibrating with almost desperate intensity.

A sneer slowly crept onto my lips.

I tapped on Zane's voice message first. He was barely holding back his anger, but I could hear how frantic and furious he was. "Rosalyn, have you lost your mind? What the hell are you trying to do? Delete it. Now.

"Do you realize how much chaos this is going to cause? You've made me look like a complete idiot.

"Pick up the phone. Pick up the damn phone!"

The way he was yelling didn't sound like a husband at all. It sounded more like someone whose lie had just been called out.

With a blank face, I tapped on Georgia's voice message.

Just as I expected, her voice carried that fragile tone she was so good at. "Rosalyn, you misunderstood. It's not what you think. We drank a little too much. Zane was only helping me because I couldn't keep my balance.

"Please delete the post. People might start getting the wrong idea. I don't mind what they think of me, but I don't want it to hurt your relationship with Zane."

Her voice sounded soft and fragile, but every word had a sting to it.

What a remarkable performance. I could almost picture her right now, eyes full of tears, looking all helpless and innocent.

The nastiest message came from Olivia, my mother-in-law. No voice notes, just a string of words that hit like a punch to the gut.

She yelled, "Rosalyn, have you no shame? You've embarrassed our whole family. Why would you drag private matters between husband and wife out in public? Are you showing everyone you can't even keep your husband?

"Delete it right now, and then get your ass over here and apologize."

For a moment, as I read those curses, my chest tightened.

I thought about the past five years, about how I had treated them with the same respect and care I would give my own parents.

Holiday presents, regular calls to check on them, and even 60 thousand dollars I helped put toward the down payment on their new house.

Turned out that in their eyes, I was nothing more than the woman who was supposed to keep her husband in line.

I let out a slow breath, but the chill in my chest didn't fade.

I deleted those filthy words one by one, like clearing out trash.

Butter sizzled in the pan in the kitchen. I fried myself a perfect egg, toasted two slices of bread, and poured a glass of milk.

The sun broke through the clouds and spilled warmly across the dining table.

As I nibbled on my breakfast, I leisurely scrolled through Instagram, watching the storm of comments that had erupted overnight with a blank face.

[Oh my gosh, Rosalyn. Isn't that your husband and Georgia? What's going on?]

[Did Zane cheat on you? And with your friend? That's so gross.]

[Poor Rosalyn. Don't be sad. He's not worth it.]

Of course, there were a few skeptical voices mixed in.

[A single photo doesn't mean much. It could just be a misunderstanding.]

[Rosalyn, aren't you being a bit impulsive? Problems between a husband and wife should be worked out privately.]

I looked through those usernames and mentally noted every person who told me to be more "understanding".

Just then, a private message popped up. It was from my college friend, Cassie.

Cassie: [Rosalyn, I always thought something was off between them.]

Below the message was a photo. It was blurry and dimly lit, but the two familiar silhouettes were unmistakable as they walked one after the other into a hotel.

The date on the photo was three months ago.

That day, Zane told me he had to go to a nearby city for a two-day training session. Apparently, it meant spending the night at a hotel with my best friend.

I typed back, cool as ever: [Thanks for letting me know.]

I sent the reply calmly and saved the photo to my phone.

Just then, the doorbell went off like crazy, as if someone were trying to tear the door down.

I already knew who it was.

I ignored it, put in my earbuds, and blocked out the noise.

Soft classical music flowed through my ears as I opened my browser and searched for the best divorce lawyer in the city on my laptop.

The noise outside finally stopped. A moment later, I heard a key turning in the lock.

Zane opened the door with the extra key.

He stormed in like an enraged bull, fury written all over his face. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair disheveled, and his wrinkled suit jacket hung loosely over his arm.

"Rosalyn," he bellowed, his voice echoing through the quiet living room.

I was sitting at the table, slowly finishing the last sip of milk.