Chapter 1
My husband, James Whitman, was the captain of the SWAT team, but he only ever went off the grid when it came to me.
He said his missions were top secret, that his phone could get him killed at any moment, and that it was normal for him to go weeks without replying.
For three years, I believed him. I didn't even dare to send him a birthday message. I just saved it in my drafts.
That all changed when his ex-girlfriend, Maggie Hughes, posted a series of photos on social media.
The posts were from 8 PM to 1 AM, every single day for twenty-seven days straight.
I clicked on the video and heard James whispering to her, "Stop it, I've already turned off my phone."
I pulled up our chat history.
I'd asked him how he was doing, and he replied on the sixteenth day.
Just three words: "Leave me alone."
After that, I learned my lesson. I stopped watching the news for updates and stopped leaving the door open for him.
My texts used to be long, but then they shrank to just one line: "Stay safe."
Then it was just: "Got it."
And after that, there was nothing at all.
When he finally came home from his so-called "mission," the first thing he said was, "Why aren't you worried about me anymore?"
I just smiled and stepped aside.
In three days, the court would tell him the price he had to pay for three years of a sham marriage.
*****
When James walked in, the wheels of his suitcase rolled over the threshold with a heavy thud.
The entryway light had been out for half a month. He tried the switch a couple of times, then shot me a frown.
"Why's the light still broken?" James asked.
"Property management's coming next week," I replied.
"Back when I wasn't home, you always took care of stuff like this ahead of time," he said.
The lemon slice rose to the surface in the glass. I slid it over to him and kept quiet.
James took off his coat and, out of habit, tossed it in my direction.
The fabric grazed my hand and dropped to the floor.
He froze for a moment, surprised.
Three years ago, on the night we registered our marriage, he tossed me his coat just like he always did, but back then, he leaned down and kissed my forehead.
"Charlotte, from now on, I'm giving you my life, and you give me our home," he whispered.
I kept those words in my heart for three years, even when he stopped replying to my messages, I could always find a hundred reasons to forgive him.
Now, his coat lay on the floor, like an old rag nobody cared about anymore.
James bent down to pick it up, his expression turning icy.
"Is this how you treat me after not seeing me for half a month?" James said.
The porridge in the kitchen was still warm. It was just for me.
Back when I knew he was coming home, I'd start planning the menu three days ahead. I'd simmer chicken soup for four hours, serve fish without a single bone, and even made sure his slippers were nice and toasty.
But today, the entryway was empty, and the shoe cabinet only had my slippers.
James stared at the empty spot for a while, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"Even my slippers are gone?" he asked.
"They were old," I replied.
"Charlotte, you've been a lot moodier lately," James said.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
When the screen lit up, I saw Maggie's profile picture.
A white teddy bear, sitting on the passenger seat of his car.
James didn't even try to hide it. He just answered the call right in front of me.
Maggie's voice came through, light and cheerful. "James, are you home yet? My stomach's hurting again."
The man who'd just been so cold suddenly softened his tone.
"The meds are in the second drawer by your bed. Don't take them on an empty stomach. I'll swing by tomorrow morning," he said.
On the coffee table, my bottle of stomach meds was lying on its side, with only two pills left inside.
Last month, when my stomach was acting up, I sent him a photo to show how bad it was.
He finally replied on the sixteenth day, just three words.
"Leave me alone."
Maggie said something else, and James laughed softly.
"Don't be silly, I'm home," he said.
Same soft, soothing voice, just like what I heard in that video.
After he hung up, I slid the divorce papers over to him.
The papers stopped right at his fingertips.
James just glanced at them and gave a short laugh.
"What's this now? Another act?" he said.
"Go ahead. Sign it," I said.
"Is this because of Maggie?" he asked.
He slouched back into the couch with a careless air, like he didn't have a care in the world.
"I've told you a hundred times. There's nothing going on between us," he said.
"Whatever," I replied.
"Charlotte, don't sound so dead inside when you talk to me," James said.
The clock on the table showed 11:20.
Back then, around this time, I'd be hovering over him, asking if he'd eaten, if he was worn out, or if he had any injuries.
Now, all I did was glance at the clock on the wall.
"The guest room's ready. You'll be staying there tonight," I said.
James's smile froze on his lips.
"You want me to sleep in the guest room?" he asked.
"I've already changed the locks on the master bedroom," I replied.
He stared at me, like he was seeing me for the first time.
After a few seconds, he carelessly shoved the divorce papers under the coffee table, like they meant nothing to him.
"I'm going to Mom's for dinner in three days. You're coming with me," he said.
"I'm busy," I replied.
"Charlotte," he said, his voice dropping.
His voice dropped, heavy with warning.
"Don't make a scene. I'm not going to coax you a second time," he said.
His phone buzzed again.
Maggie sent a voice message, her tone dripping with sweetness.
"James, I can't find the medicine," she said.
James grabbed his car keys and paused as he walked past me.
"Look at you now. You don't even have a single trace of a wife left in you," he said.
He pulled the door open, and a blast of cold air swept into the room.
The corner of the divorce papers was sticking out from under the coffee table, pressed beneath his shoe.