Chapter 1
In the third year of my marriage to Lucas Reed, the ring finally vanished from the depths of his study drawer.
Inside the ring were carved the initials of his first love—Emily Lane.
I was brewing herbal medicine for Mary, Lucas's mother, when the photo came through.
Floor-to-ceiling airport windows behind them, Lucas bent to gently slide the ring onto Emily's finger.
My phone screen was already cracked—from last week, when he shoved me while drunk.
*****
The herbal medicine pot was bubbling on the stove.
The scent of herbs wrapped around my breath, sticky and suffocating. I stared at the photo on my phone, my fingertip sliding over the cracked screen.
The ring with her initials engraved inside was now slipped onto her slender ring finger. The shot was discreet, but everything was unmistakable.
I saw the gentle curve of Lucas's jawline, the way his lashes cast shadows as he looked down, and the tiny mole near Emily's eye, the same one I'd spotted in countless old photos whenever she tilted her head up.
The herbal liquid splashed onto the back of my hand.
It burned.
I didn't move, just watched the skin flush red. The pain felt sharper, more honest than anything I'd experienced in three years of marriage.
Keys turned in the lock at the entryway.
I switched off the stove and poured the herbal medicine into a bowl. The rim was scorching, so I gripped it carefully and hurried to the dining room. The bowl landed on the table with a crisp "clack."
Lucas walked in, his suit jacket draped over his arm.
He glanced at the table. "Mom's not coming over for dinner tonight."
"The herbal medicine's ready," I said. "Are you bringing it to her tomorrow?"
"Just put it in the fridge," Lucas replied.
He dropped his watch onto the kitchen island without a second thought. That was the birthday gift I gave him last year, after saving up my design fees for half a year.
He wore it for two months, then stopped. When I asked, he said the strap was uncomfortable.
Now I understood.
It was never about the strap.
It was about Emily. He still loved her.
"Did everything go okay today?" I asked, my voice a little strained.
"Just the usual," Lucas said, unbuttoning his collar as he headed upstairs. "I'm gonna shower. Not having dinner tonight."
"Lucas," I called out.
He stopped halfway up the stairs but didn't turn around.
I turned my phone toward him. The photo was hard to miss, even in the dim light. "Care to explain?"
He turned around, his gaze lingered on my face before shifting to the phone. His face stayed blank, except for the slightest twitch of his brow.
"Who sent you that?" he asked.
"Does it matter?" I shot back.
"Sarah," he said, coming down a couple of steps, his voice tired. "Emily just got back. She's got a lot to deal with. She lost her old ring, so I just—"
"So you just happened to run out and buy her a new one?" I cut him off. "And even had it engraved?"
The silence stretched between us for a few seconds, thick enough to choke on.
The medicine pot was still sitting on the stove, unwashed, with leftover liquid dripping slowly down the rim. It was like a timer ticking down, marking the end of something.
"Did you check my drawers?" Lucas asked.
"Do I really need to?" I laughed, though my throat felt tight. "I saw it the day we moved in, three years ago. You told me it was just something from your ex, and you forgot to toss it."
"Then why are you bringing it up now?" he asked.
Because I really believed time could change things.
Because I thought all those humble efforts, the coffee I set out every morning, the light I left on in the study for him late at night, the nights I spent sleeping on the hospital corridor floor when Mary was sick, would make him care.
"Lucas," I said, my voice calm. "Let's get divorced."
His eyes flickered in surprise.
"What did you just say?" he asked.
"I said, let's get divorced," I repeated, setting my phone down on the table. "I've already drafted the papers. They're in the second drawer on the left in the study. If everything looks fine to you, just sign."
He stared at me like I was a stranger he'd never met before.
Then he gave me a laugh, mocking, condescending.
"Sarah, don't make a scene," he said, stepping closer and reaching out to touch my cheek. I turned my head away.
His hand froze in midair.
"Emily's just a friend," he said. "I was just helping her out with the ring. The engraving was from before. If it bothers you, I'll toss it tomorrow."
"And then what?" I looked up at him. "You throw it out, but you'll still be lying next to me every night, thinking about her, won't you?"
His face darkened.
"Do you really have to talk like that?" he said.
"So what am I supposed to say?" I stood up. The herbal medicine in the bowl was cold now, a thin film forming on top. "Should I smile and say, 'It's okay, I know you have someone else in your heart, and I don't mind'?
"Lucas, I've been faking it for three years. I can't keep it up anymore."
The kitchen lights were harsh, illuminating the faint scar on Lucas's temple. That scar came from last year's car accident. I spent three sleepless nights outside the ICU. When he finally woke up, he asked, "Did Emily know?"
I didn't shed a tear back then.
I still didn't want to cry now.
"I'm not asking for anything in the divorce," I said. "The house, the car, the money—they're all yours. I'm just taking my designs and my clothes."
"You really think I care about any of that?" Lucas raised his voice. "Sarah, marriage isn't some game. You're ending our marriage over a single photo?"
"It's not about the photo," I said slowly. "It's because of every day over these three years."
He froze, caught off guard.