Chapter 2

Ethan came home at 7:20 that evening carrying a bouquet of white lilies.

They were the flowers we brought to Lily's grave every year.

"I replaced the old ribbon on the memorial tree." He bent to kiss me. "You'll see it the next time you go."

There was cream paint on his cuff.

"Were you there alone today?" I asked.

"Of course."

The lie came too easily, as if he had said it many times before.

Ethan noticed the needle mark on the back of my hand and set down the flowers.

"How did the appointment go?"

"I need another test."

Relief flashed across his face.

"Then don't get your hopes up yet. We can't survive another disappointment."

That morning, he had touched another woman's seven-month belly and promised that this time, Lily would grow up.

That night, he warned me not to believe our baby might survive.

At nine, the alarm for my progesterone shot went off.

Ethan took the medication from the refrigerator and prepared the syringe, just as he had throughout the last three years.

When the needle went in, the pain made me twist the bedsheet in my fist.

"Don't tense up like that." He steadied my waist. "This is the last time. Whatever happens, we can't keep putting ourselves through this."

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

The screen said, MASON, PROPERTY MAINTENANCE.

Ethan immediately took the phone into his study and closed the door.

Lily's gray stuffed rabbit had been missing from our home for more than a month.

Ethan said he had taken it to the cottage to keep her company.

Now, through the closed door, I heard him say, "Stop contacting me at this number. I'll handle it."

"Ethan."

He ended the call.

"What is it?"

"If this works, will you be happy?"

He frowned.

"Ava, don't start overthinking everything again."

"I'm only asking if you'll be happy."

"Of course I will. But nothing is certain yet. Why are you pushing me to say all this now?"

He threw the bloodstained cotton ball into the trash and pulled the covers over me.

"Go to sleep. We still have to go to the cemetery on Sunday."

"You'll be there?"

"It's Lily's third birthday. How could I not be?"

He switched off the bedside lamp.

Half an hour later, Ethan was asleep.

I locked myself in the bathroom and opened our joint bank account.

I did not move a single dollar.

I only saved the lakeside charges and the statements from Lily's memorial fund.

There were six renovation payments totaling $18,640.

The memo on each one read: NURSERY UPDATE.

After Lily died, I could not even bring myself to throw away the half-empty bottle of baby wash she had left behind.

Ethan had used her memorial fund to paint over her handprints.

At 1:17 a.m., an unknown number sent me a photograph.

The gray rabbit lay in a newly made crib. The LILY COLE plaque hung above it.

Beneath the photograph was a message.

"Thank you for keeping my daughter's room and father safe for her."

I saved the original image, the number, and the time stamp, then forwarded copies to family attorney Mara Stone.

At 1:49 a.m., she called me back.

"What do you want me to do?"

I looked at Ethan sleeping in our bedroom.

"Prepare the divorce petition."