Chapter 1
Series 1 Chapter 1
On the last morning of my marriage, I still woke at five.
For 2,555 days, I had made breakfast for my husband.
The eggs had to be soft in the center.
His coffee had to be black.
The crusts had to be cut from his toast.
Even the milk had to be warmed to the exact temperature he liked.
Seven years ago, those details had felt intimate.
Now they were muscle memory.
When we first got married, Ronan gave me a pale blue apron.
He said he wanted to wake every morning and find me standing in the kitchen.
Eventually, he got exactly what he wanted.
He simply stopped thanking me for it.
I placed breakfast on the table, packed his lunch, then opened my laptop and joined an early video conference.
On the screen, the final design proposal was being reviewed.
“Sabine, the board has made its decision,” the director said. “The official documents have been sent to your email.”
I glanced toward the closed bedroom door.
“I’ll be there on time.”
“Do you need us to handle the remaining arrangements?”
“No.”
I ended the call just as the bedroom door opened.
Ronan walked out in his robe, sat at the table, and took a sip of coffee.
His expression darkened.
“It’s cold.”
I had poured it less than a minute ago.
I didn’t explain.
He tapped one finger against the cup.
“Make another one.”
In the past, I would have stood immediately.
That morning, I stayed where I was.
Ronan looked up.
“I’m talking to you.”
“There’s more in the kitchen.”
“I told you to make a fresh cup.”
After two seconds, I rose and picked up the coffee he had barely touched.
Then I poured it down the sink.
Ronan looked up sharply.
“There’s more in the pot,” I said. “You know where it is.”
He swept the plate toward the edge of the table.
The toast and eggs fell into the trash with a dull thud.
The breakfast I had woken at five to make disappeared beneath last night’s garbage.
Ronan didn’t look at it again.
He picked up the lunch I had packed for him.
“Be home before six. I invited several important clients to dinner.”
I turned around.
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I’m telling you now.”
“I already have plans tonight.”
He finally looked at me as though I had offered the weakest excuse imaginable.
“What could you possibly have to do?”
My phone lit up on the table.
A new email appeared on the screen.
I turned it facedown before he could read it.
“Something that was arranged in advance.”
His jaw tightened.
“Cancel it. I already told my clients my wife would prepare dinner herself.”
“You never asked me.”
Ronan gave a short, humorless laugh.
“I’m your husband. Do I really need your permission over something this small?”
He picked up his lunch and headed toward the front door.
Until the moment it closed behind him, he never noticed that two suitcases were missing from the closet.
My passport was no longer in the entryway drawer.
And the wedding photograph that had hung on the wall for seven years—
was gone.