Chapter 3

Opening it, I found my best friend Becky Mcguire on the doorstep, her face full of concern and hesitation, like she was bursting to say something but holding back.

"Debora, there's something I have to tell you—I spotted Philip at the hospital today, all over some woman!"

I stayed cool. "Yeah, I'm aware."

Becky eyed me warily. "You holding up okay? If it's bothering you, spill it to me."

Her worried look cracked me up. "We're divorced now. Whatever he's up to doesn't concern me anymore."

"What? You guys split up?"

I gave her the short version of events. When I mentioned being forced to down the Nepenthe Decoction, Becky lost it completely.

"That scumbag Philip! He'd stoop to anything to marry that side piece!

"Remember, if it wasn't for her, you'd have headed to Bridgewater and become a top medical expert way back when! And let's not forget—he owes his whole success to you. How the hell does that asshole think he can treat you like this for another woman? Feeding you all that high-and-mighty bullshit—it's revolting!"

Her rant unearthed the resentment I'd shoved down deep.

When I married Philip, he was flat broke.

I bent over backward to hype his business, pulling every string I had to help him bounce back.

Time and again, he'd wrap me in his arms and swear that snagging me was the luckiest break of his life, and he'd love me till the end.

But life had other plans.

Little by little, another woman's presence slipped into his heart.

He began taking my hard work for granted, demanding I stay sweet and supportive while cutting him slack for his "compassion" toward Tracy.

Was loyalty really such a tall order?

So why was I able to love him steadily, without fail, year after year?

After Becky had ranted herself out, she grabbed my hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "Debora, mark my words—Philip's going to regret every damn choice he's made!

"He probably never dreamed there was no such thing as an antidote! Let him cry his eyes out and regret it for the rest of his life! And for you, this is your ticket out."

After seeing Becky off, I sighed softly and climbed into bed, tossing and turning for half the night, when suddenly I heard noises in the living room.

It was Philip, digging around like he was on a mission.

"What are you searching for?"

Philip paused, then glanced back at me standing in the bedroom doorway.

He frowned and, without thinking, slipped off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders.

"It's chilly tonight—you're not dressed for it. Don't catch cold."

I didn't move, just asked again, "What are you looking for?"

"Do you still have your wedding dress? Tracy wants to borrow it."

Philip seemed to remember my "amnesia" and looked annoyed with himself.

"Ah, you wouldn't recall anyway—it's the one a famous artist stitched by hand years ago."

I stared at him expressionlessly, but I hadn't forgotten a single detail.

That wedding dress meant the world to me.

Philip had gone to the city himself to pick out the threads and fabric, then pleaded with a famous artist to spend almost six months sewing it.

And why all that effort? Just from one casual remark I'd made.

"I'm so jealous of people with family-made wedding dresses."

But now, he was ready to hand over what was mine to fulfill another woman's fantasy.

The absurdity of it all made me furious. Deliberately, I said, "Why does it have to be the one I wore? Is there something special about it?"

My words must've triggered a memory; he zoned out, looking dazed.

I recalled the day the dress was done—he'd declared, "This is exclusively yours."

As he snapped back, a flicker of doubt crossed his eyes before he said, "The artist's getting on in years; she couldn't whip up another just like it. Tracy wants to wear this one down the aisle."

Seeing me bow my head quietly, he went on, "Of course, I'll return it the second the wedding's over. Or if you want something in exchange, just say the word."

His thorough, cover-all-bases pitch felt like a knife twisting in my chest—raw, excruciating pain.

I flashed back to our wedding day; his gaze stayed glued to me the whole time.

Afterward, he treated the dress like a relic, carefully storing it in the wardrobe.

I'd hugged him from behind. "Is this wedding dress that big a deal?"

He'd turned, utterly sincere. "You wore it to marry me—to me, it's priceless, something I'll treasure forever."

Yet here we were, and because Tracy wanted it, Philip was giving it up without a second thought.

No longer a symbol of our precious memories, it had become a prop to cheer her up.