Chapter 2

By seven that night, Ethan had already told the neighborhood I was falling apart.

His post sat at the top of the community group. He wrote that I had been under pressure since losing my mother, that the situation at the yard sale had upset me, and that everyone should give me privacy instead of spreading photos or gossip.

He never mentioned the ring. He never mentioned Bella. He only wrote: "Please be kind to Hannah. She is going through a lot right now."

The replies came fast.

You're a wonderful husband.

We're here for both of you.

She's lucky to have you.

I did not type a response. I took screenshots of his post, then screenshots of the replies underneath it. When a neighbor sent me a private message asking if I needed someone to talk to, I read it twice and put my phone down.

At eight, Ethan still was not home.

At nine, another message appeared in the group. Someone wrote that they hoped I would take time to rest. Ethan reacted with a heart.

I took a screenshot of that too. Then I opened the note on my phone and added one line beneath the details from the yard sale.

Ethan posted first.

That was all.

I did not write what I felt. I did not write what I wanted to say to him. I only wrote what happened, the way it happened.

Ethan came home after midnight.

I heard the front door open, then the quiet sound of his shoes in the hallway. When he walked into the bedroom, he was holding a paper cup with a lid.

"I brought you hot chocolate," he said.

I looked at the cup, then at him.

"You were gone all night."

"I needed time to think."

"You had time to post about me."

His expression shifted, but he recovered quickly. "I was trying to stop people from making things worse."

"You told them I was having a breakdown."

"I said you were grieving."

"You told them to worry about me."

He sat at the edge of the bed and held the cup out again. "Hannah, please. Just take this."

I did not take it. For a moment, he looked tired. Real tired, not the concerned face he used for other people.

"I should not have handled the ring the way I did," he said. "And I should not have let things get messy with Bella."

"Messy?"

"I made a mistake."

"You gave her my mother's ring."

"I know."

"You told her I got rid of it."

"I panicked."

The word hung in the room.

I watched him carefully. He was admitting just enough to sound sorry, but not enough to make himself responsible.

"I'll get the ring back," he said. "I'll talk to Bella. I'll clear things up with the neighbors."

"You will?"

"Yes."

His voice was soft again. "I don't want this to destroy us."

I looked at him for a long second, then nodded once.

"Okay," I said.

He seemed relieved. That was why I said it.

He set the hot chocolate on the nightstand and reached for my hand. I moved mine before he could touch it. His smile held for one second too long.

"I'm going to wash up," I said.

In the kitchen, I picked up the cup and turned on the faucet. I heard Ethan moving around in the bedroom. A moment later, the room went quiet again.

His coat was hanging over the back of a chair.

The inside pocket was open. A white envelope was sticking out.

I knew I should leave it there. Instead, I dried my hands, took the envelope, and read the first line.

It was a report accusing my home cake studio of unsafe practices, and the name listed as the complainant was --

Suddenly, the bedroom door opened behind me.

I slid the paper back into his coat pocket, picked up the hot chocolate, and turned around as if I had only come to rinse the cup.