Chapter 1

On our third wedding anniversary, the eighteenth substitute Carlos Maynard kept came to me.

"We used up five boxes of condoms in one month," she said smugly. "He said that was more than you two used in three years."

I stared at her provocative face, dazed.

She looked the most like Aimee Lindell out of all of them.

No wonder Carlos liked her so much.

I didn't drive her away like I would have done before. I smiled instead, saying, "May you two have a child soon."

They didn't know I already prepared to divorce.

I had late-stage cancer. I didn't want to die as Carlos' wife.

*****

When I opened the door, Carlos was there on the couch, like he'd been waiting for me.

"Did you go looking for Gloria?" he asked.

He shot me a mocking look. "I thought you could keep it together longer.

"Janice, I told you when we got married. You killed Aimee. I'm never letting you off the hook.

"You just watch me be with Aimee's substitutes, stuck in misery for the rest of your days."

My illness had flared up, the pain so bad I broke out in a cold sweat. All I could do was nod. "Got it."

He didn't even care that I was hurting, just threw out a warning. "Gloria's not like those other women. If you try anything with her, don't expect me to go easy on you."

I didn't say a word, simply dragged myself along the wall and slowly made my way back to the bedroom.

There was no screaming match this time. Carlos frowned, clearly not used to this. "You—"

But I just shut the bedroom door, slumped to the floor, and choked down a painkiller without water, my hands trembling.

Soon, I heard a loud bang from outside. Carlos had stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

If this had been before, I would've panicked, chased after him, and done anything to make him stay.

He would've mocked me for being pathetic and needy, took out all his anger on me, then left, disgusted with himself.

But now, with my ears buzzing from the pain, all I felt was relief.

After all, last time I got sick, he didn't buy it at all. "Trying to pull the sympathy card? That doesn't work on me," he scoffed.

Then, without even bothering to hide it, he wrapped his arm around another woman and walked straight into the hotel.

I couldn't even remember what that substitute was called.

I tried to focus on anything else, but the pain was unbearable. I passed out.

When I finally came to, I barely had the strength to crawl into bed.

That was when I scrolled and saw Gloria Vogler's latest post.

She typed: [What's a dad-type boyfriend? I just caught a little cold, and he's so worried he won't even let me get out of bed.]

The post had a photo of Carlos feeding her medicine.

So this was the reason why she added me on social media.

I couldn't help but laugh at myself.

I was bringing Carlos lunch in our second year of marriage when I slipped and fell down the stairs.

He was vacationing abroad with his latest stand-in, and didn't bother coming back until I was discharged.

Feeling miserable, I couldn't help but complain.

But he only sneered, "You didn't die, so what are you whining about? Why are you acting so pathetic? Do you think you're really my wife?"

After that, whether it was a cold or something worse, I never dared to go to him. I was always afraid he'd just get pissed.

Now I finally get it. He wasn't cold to everyone, just to me. He refused to spare any of his concern for me.

Lost in these memories, I pulled out my notebook.

On it, I'd written down the things I wanted to do before I died.

First up: get a divorce.

I sent Carlos the divorce agreement, and within minutes, he called me himself.

His voice was cold. "Come downstairs. We're having dinner at the Maynard Mansion."

That was when it hit me. It was Sunday.

I hurried downstairs, and as soon as I opened the passenger door, an open condom wrapper fluttered out.

My stomach churned, and I rushed to the side of the road, dry-heaving.

"What are you pretending now?" Carlos snapped, clearly annoyed. "So I forgot our anniversary. Is it really that big of a deal?

"If you hadn't drugged me and climbed into my bed, we never would've gotten married. What's there to celebrate about a marriage like this?"

I slumped down on the curb, so exhausted I couldn't get a word out.

His phone buzzed. As soon as he picked up, his voice turned all soft. "Hang tight, babe. I'll be there in a sec."

He slammed the car door, sounding totally fed up. "If you wanna make a fuss, then you can get yourself to the Maynard Mansion."

With that, he sped off.

At the Maynard Mansion, Gloria was sitting right next to Carlos' mom, Elise, cracking her up.

But as soon as they spotted me, their smiles disappeared and they instantly shot me those looks like I was something they scraped off their shoe.

Elise never liked me.

Three years married to Carlos with no kids, and every time we met, she never missed a chance to make some snide remark.

I bent over backwards trying to please her, but it was all for nothing.

Now, I just felt so pathetic it was almost funny.

Like mother, like son. If Carlos couldn't stand me, there was no way his mom would either.

When dinner started, Gloria took my usual seat, shooting me a smug, taunting smile.

"Ms. Wolfson, I'm the Maynard family's private doctor now. You don't mind if I sit here, do you?" she said.

Back then, I never let anyone sit next to Carlos.