Chapter 2

The next morning, I didn't go to the office. Instead, I headed straight to the courthouse to check my marriage records.

Once the clerk verified my identity, she asked, "Which year's records do you need?"

I said, "All of them."

She tapped a few keys and printed out a stamped certificate.

There was one line on it. [As of the date of inquiry, Kinley Donovan has no marriage registration records.]

I sat in the corner of the office, clutching that piece of paper, staring at it for twenty minutes straight.

Seven years ago, our wedding was a lively affair.

Dallas and I met in college, dated for four years, and I was twenty-seven when we got married.

Charlotte had married overseas and couldn't make it back for my wedding. Samuel walked me down the aisle and gave me away to Dallas himself.

We were supposed to register our marriage a week before the wedding. But on the appointed day, I got called out to handle a wind farm emergency.

By the time I rushed back from the coast, it was already too late. Dallas said he'd asked a friend to sort out the paperwork, and Samuel went with him to pick up the official marriage certificate.

I had grumbled that they shouldn't have bent the rules.

But Samuel laughed, saying I was being a stickler. "The certificate is real. You two are real. So, what's the big deal if it's a day early or late?"

I bought it.

After that, whenever we bought insurance or registered assets, we always handled it separately. Dallas said married couples should keep their finances independent.

I admired his sense of boundaries, so I never used that certificate for anything, not once.

For seven years, it sat locked in the bedroom safe.

Only then did I know that all those so-called boundaries were his way of keeping the fake certificate from ever being scrutinized.

I snapped a photo of the certificate, saved it to a locked folder on my phone, and headed straight to the office.

*****

Alaina slid the assignment agreement across the desk.

The Dantarcna project was based on the west coast of the Skarnfell Peninsula. My job was getting the control systems up and running for a bunch of offshore wind turbines.

The first stretch was eighteen months, and if things went well, I could stay in Vesperia for good.

This position was offered to me six months ago.

At the time, Dallas was getting his new business off the ground and said he didn't want us to be apart for too long.

Samuel also told me that once a woman hit thirty, no matter how successful she was, she should start focusing on family. So, I turned down the offer the first time.

Now, Alaina asked, "You're not going to sign this and then change your mind again, are you?"

I said, "No."

I signed my name on the contract.

The sound of my pen gliding across the paper was soft, but it felt more real than the marriage certificate ever did.

After signing the papers, I took a half-day off and headed home.

The safe needed both my fingerprint and password. When I opened it, I saw that the marriage certificate was still on the top shelf, with the house deed, bank statements, and a few pieces of jewelry underneath.

I took out the certificate and, for the first time, really looked it over.

The stamp was the wrong color, and the registration number didn't match. In the photo, I was smiling, completely unsuspecting, but Dallas wasn't looking at the camera. His eyes were fixed on the door.

I snapped a photo of the fake certificate alongside the official proof of no marriage record, and then locked the certificate back in the safe.

After my parents passed away, their old home was torn down for redevelopment. Then a new house was built on this land and was registered in my name. I paid for most of the renovations myself.

When Dallas moved in, he promised we'd buy a place together, one that belonged to both of us.

Seven years went by, and he never did.

We each contributed our share to the household account. After reviewing the account, I canceled the automatic transfer from my salary card, keeping only enough to pay for this month's utilities and property fees.

In the master bedroom closet, Dallas's clothes filled more than half the space.

I didn't pack his things.

With five days to go, I only packed my own stuff.

Two big suitcases, a set of cold-weather work gear, and three technical manuals. The rest of my regular clothes stayed put. There was no point in taking everything.

Halfway through packing, Charlotte came back from the hospital.

She stood in the doorway, her expression shifting when she saw the suitcases on the floor. "Kinley, are you going on a business trip?"

I said, "Yeah."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Not sure yet."

She walked in and helped me fold a sweater. "Please don't be upset about yesterday. Sam was really concerned about me. Once I find a place, I'll move out. I won't be a bother to you and Dallas for long."

I watched her skillfully fold the sweater and place it in the suitcase.

When we were kids, we used to share a bed. She always knew exactly how I liked my clothes folded and what I treasured most.

I called out softly, "Lottie."

Charlotte replied, "Yeah?"

"What do you want most right now?"

She paused for a second and then flashed a smile. "First, I need to get my health back, then find a job. Divorce isn't a big deal. I have to start over."

She didn't say a word about the baby or the guy who'd given her his promise by her bed.

I zipped up the suitcase, making sure the sweater she folded was at the very bottom. "I hope you finally get what you really want."