Chapter 1
My husband changed the lock on my study, and another woman opens the door when my key refuses to turn.
Daphne Cole—Lucas's high school sweetheart and the hospital's interim director—stands in my study. Her laptop is on my desk; my nursing certificate is gone.
My mind scrambles for mercy: a damaged key, a jammed lock, forgotten maintenance. Then I see the untouched silver around the keyhole and Daphne's hand on the inside knob. My fingers tighten around the key.
“It sticks,” she says.
The lie comes as casually as the theft.
“Move.”
“Lucas said I could work in here.”
“You should have asked me.”
“She didn't need to.” Lucas cuts in from behind me.
I turn too quickly. Relief reaches me first; Lucas is here, and I expect the room to become mine again once he explains. Then I see his face. He is not surprised by the lock. He is annoyed that I objected.
“You changed the lock?”
“Daphne handles confidential material. She needs privacy.”
He offers no explanation. My throat tightens.
I find my textbooks and binders gone. Last year, Lucas said Ethan needed stability more than I needed another qualification, so I packed them. Ethan, his ten-year-old son, was four when we married, after his mother died. For six years, I have arranged my work around his school, asthma, and nightmares.
“Where is everything?”
“The garage.”
My stomach tightens. The garage holds things we do not use and may eventually throw away.
“You boxed up my work.”
“You barely use the room.”
“Because I work twelve-hour shifts.”
“You're not going anywhere over a lock, Kate. You'll sleep, calm down, and tomorrow this won't feel important.”
I remember arguments that ended with my coat on at the front door, then staying because Ethan was upstairs. Lucas has seen that ending often enough to expect it again.
The key digs into my palm. When I open my hand, it has left red marks.
Daphne closes a folder. “I told him I could use the dining table.”
I don't know what to say. She offers to give up the room only after receiving it. She gets to appear considerate and make my refusal look unreasonable.
Lucas turns toward her before he answers me.
“Don't make this ugly. She's helping the hospital.”
“I've helped that hospital for twelve years.”
His mouth flattens. “Everything becomes a competition when Daphne is involved.”
Heat races up my neck. I want to say, You gave her my room, and now you want me to thank you? I bite my cheek and taste blood. Lucas waits for the outburst that will prove him right. Daphne lowers her eyes.
I walk downstairs.
Our wedding photograph has disappeared from the mantel. In its place, seventeen-year-old Lucas holds Daphne around the waist and laughs. I have not seen him smile that way in years.
I find our photograph facedown in the drawer. I chose it because his hand rested at my back. I thought that meant he wanted to be close to me. Looking now, I see his eyes were elsewhere. A sharp ache passes through my chest.
“It's only a picture,” Lucas says.
My fingers close around the old frame. I want to smash the other photograph against the fireplace. But Lucas would remember only the broken glass and call me jealous and unstable.
I set the frame down.
At work, I record disputed facts. My hand steadies as I take out my phone.
I photograph the lock, Daphne behind my desk, the pictures, and four boxes beside the recycling bins. Her handwriting labels each one.
“What are you doing?” Lucas asks.
“Remembering accurately.”
I save them in a locked folder. A date appears beneath Daphne's writing on the first box.
Three days ago.
Daphne asked for the study this morning.
How much else have they decided without me?