Chapter 3

Daylight broke.

I spent the whole night on the couch.

Sunlight came through the floor-to-ceiling windows and lay long bands of light across the floor, with dust turning in them.

The place I'd called home for six years suddenly felt like a stranger's house.

I got up, my body stiff, like my bones had rusted over.

I walked over to the window and looked down at the garden below.

The roses I'd planted myself were in full bloom.

James said he liked them.

Thinking about it now, he hadn't liked the flowers. He had liked me planting them for him.

He liked the me who was always obedient, lost in fake happiness, never getting in his way.

I picked up my phone and opened my contacts.

Row after row of names, and every one of them was a friend I had met at a party.

I scrolled for ages before my finger finally landed on a name, Monica Drew.

She was my best friend.

I hit call.

The phone rang forever before Monica finally answered, sounding half-asleep.

"Hey, Sophia, why are you calling so early?" she mumbled.

"Monica, I..." My voice came out dry and raw, and it startled me.

"What's wrong? Did you catch a cold?" she asked, concern lacing her sleepy voice.

"James wants a divorce," I said, and saying it made my chest twist all over again.

There was silence on the other end.

It was a long, heavy silence.

It was so long that I thought the call had dropped.

"Hello? Monica, are you there?" I asked, my voice shaky.

"I'm here," Monica finally said, and her voice sounded off. "Sophia, honestly, James has always treated you pretty well."

I froze.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice unsteady.

"He bought you a car and a house, and you never once had to think about money. Half the people we know would trade places with you. Are you sure you aren't being ungrateful about this?" Monica said.

Ungrateful.

My husband had been with another woman for three years. He had given her everything we had built, and he was putting me out on the street.

And my best friend was calling me ungrateful.

"Monica," I said coldly, "are you still carrying that limited-edition designer bag I gave you last month?"

"Sophia, what are you getting at?" Monica asked, her voice suddenly defensive.

"Nothing," I said, and I hung up.

I finally got it.

Every friend I had belonged to Mrs. Sinclair, not to Sophia Quinn.

Mrs. Sinclair was finished.

So the friends were finished too.

I went back to the bedroom and opened the walk-in closet.

Rows and rows of clothes, bags, and shoes.

All bought by James.

All the things I used to show off.

Now they landed like a slap across my face.

I pulled out a suitcase and started packing.

I didn't take any of the designer stuff.

I just grabbed a few old clothes I'd bought myself when I first married him.

Then I saw the safe.

I walked over and entered the code.

It was my birthday.

The door swung open, revealing the jewelry my mom left behind for me and a single document.

It was a trust fund my dad set up for me before he died.

He had told me it was my last safety net and that I should not touch it unless I had nothing else.

I took it out.

After all these years, I'd almost forgotten it even existed.

Because James kept me so sheltered.

He turned me into a useless person.

Someone who knew how to spend money and nothing else.

And the man who built me that way had kicked me out.

I put the document and jewelry into the suitcase and closed it.

Right then, my phone started ringing.

It was an unknown number.

I answered.

"Is this Ms. Sophia Quinn?" a flat male voice asked.

"Yes," I replied.

"Hello. This is the credit card center. All cards under your name have been frozen at the request of the primary cardholder, Mr. James Sinclair, effective immediately," the voice said.

I didn't say a word.

"Ms. Quinn, are you still there?" the voice asked.

"Got it," I said, my voice flat.

I hung up.

He was fast.

He was brutal.

He was making sure I had nowhere left to run.

I dragged my suitcase out of that house.

I gave that giant wedding portrait one last look.

I walked over, took it down, and laid it on the floor with the picture facing down.

I didn't smash it.

That'd be letting him off way too easy.

I wanted him to watch what he had thrown away turn into something he could never reach again.

I dragged my suitcase into the elevator.

My phone rang again.

I figured it was just another bank calling.

I glanced at the screen, and the word Dad was flashing across it.

It was Lionel Madden, my stepfather.

After my dad passed away, my mom remarried.

We hardly ever kept in touch.

I took a deep breath, trying to make my voice sound normal.

"Hello, Lionel," I said, and I kept my tone polite and distant.

"Sophia, do you have a minute?" Lionel's voice sounded heavy.

"I do. Go ahead," I said.

"Your mother is in the hospital," he said.

My mind went completely blank.

"What happened? Is it serious?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"Her blood pressure spiked and she passed out. The doctors say it doesn't look good," Lionel said, and exhaustion sat in every word. "She keeps saying your name."

"Which hospital? I'm coming right now!" I blurted out, panic rising in my chest.

I hung up, rushed out of the elevator, and flagged down a taxi.

I sat in the back seat and watched the street lights streak past the window.

James and Emily had taken everything from me.

And now, the last place I could go was about to come down, too.

I closed my eyes.

The last bit of sadness in my heart was drained out of me, little by little.

All that was left was something cold and hard, and its name was hate.

It was growing wild inside me, taking over everything.