My Husband Framed Me to Protect His Mistress

Synopsis

The roasted chicken sits in the center of the dining table, golden and perfect, steam no longer rising from its crisp skin. I've set out the good china—the Wedgwood set Riley's mother gave us for our third anniversary, the one she said was "too fine for everyday use." The irony isn't lost on me as I stare at the empty chair across from mine. My phone buzzes against the mahogany surface. Riley's name lights up the screen. "Gem, I'm so sorry." His voice carries that practiced apologetic tone I've learned to recognize over seven years of marriage. "There's a crisis with the Jenkins account. I need to pull an all-nighter at the office." I close my eyes, counting the holidays. Easter. Fourth of July. Labor Day.