Chapter 2

The next morning, Grant tossed his keys onto the entryway console, acting like nothing had happened.

"Scott's throwing a BBQ tonight. Don't forget."

I looked at him. "Is Brooke going?"

He paused halfway through unbuttoning his cuff. "Obviously. She's part of the group."

"And what part am I?" I asked. "Where do I fit in?"

Grant turned around, irritation flashing across his face. "Are you seriously still hung up on last night? A seat, a scarf, a couple of harmless jokes from my friends—is that really worth obsessing over all night?"

I stared back. "She asked me if I thought I'd still have a seat at that table if she actually wanted you back."

He went quiet for a couple of seconds, then let out a heavy sigh.

"You must have misheard her. Brooke has a sharp tongue, but she's not malicious. If she really wanted to be with me, we would've gotten back together a long time ago."

There it was again.

It felt like my entire marriage was just a hand-me-down—something Brooke had discarded.

By evening, I still ended up at Scott's house.

Warm string lights draped across the backyard, a crowd gathered around the grill.

Brooke arrived before us. She was standing by a high-top table, chatting with a guy named Adam, who used to have a massive crush on her.

Standing right next to Adam was his fiancée, Rachel. Her arm was linked through his, her smile perfectly polite.

When Brooke spoke to them, she kept a noticeable distance. When Adam offered to grab her a drink, she didn't take it. She just smiled and said, "Thanks, but let Rachel grab it for me. You're an engaged man now. We don't want to give people the wrong idea."

Taking a deliberate half-step back, she joked, "I wouldn't want to cause any drama."

I stood by the patio, my hand frozen around my cup.

So she did know what boundaries were.

She just pretended to forget them when it came to Grant.

But the moment Grant walked over, Brooke morphed into a completely different person.

"Took you long enough." She naturally took his jacket from his hands. "I saved you some grilled corn. Skip the hot sauce, or your ulcer will act up tomorrow."

She handed him a plate, moving with the practiced ease of someone in her own kitchen.

Rachel shot me a look. It was subtle—not mockery, but pity.

I walked up to Brooke, my voice flat. "Didn't you just say that engaged men need to watch their boundaries so people don't get the wrong idea?"

Brooke's smile froze.

Grant frowned. "Lauren."

I didn't look at him.

Brooke quickly recovered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"That's different," she said softly. "Adam's fiancée doesn't know me well. She might get the wrong impression. But you and Grant have been married for two years. Don't you trust him?"

She neatly flipped the script.

If I made a fuss, I was the insecure wife who didn't trust her husband.

If I stayed quiet, she got to keep her place right beside him.

I held my ground. "So it's not that you don't understand boundaries. You just don't think mine are worth respecting."

The backyard went dead quiet.

Brooke looked down, her eyes brimming with sudden tears. "I thought we were getting along. Lauren, I've never tried to steal your place."

Grant slammed his plate down on the table. His voice was low and hard. "Enough."

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the side of the house.

"Did you really have to do that in front of everyone?"

"You saw it," I said. "She knows exactly how to keep her distance from Adam."

"Because she barely knows Adam's fiancée."

"So because she knows me, I'm supposed to just suck it up?"

Grant looked at me, sheer exhaustion in his eyes. "Why are you starting this again? Brooke already backed down. What more do you want from her?"

Again.

When he dropped that word, all my urge to explain evaporated.

He had already categorized every moment of my discomfort as a symptom of the same disease.

Insecure.

Paranoid.

Relentless.

Right before the party ended, I went to the kitchen to grab my purse. The door was cracked open. From inside, I heard Brooke talking to another girl from the group.

"You were pushing your luck out there," the girl said.

Brooke gave a light laugh. "Not really. Grant would never let her humiliate me in public."

"Aren't you worried she'll actually make a scene?"

"She doesn't have the guts," Brooke said, her voice dropping to a smug whisper. "The harder she tries to play the perfect wife, the less she can afford to look like a sore loser."

I stood frozen outside, my fingertips pressed against the cold doorframe.

In that moment, I realized I no longer needed Grant to believe me.

I knew exactly what I had seen.