Chapter 1
My name was Eloise Steele.
Once upon a time, I was Frankie Browning's wife—on paper, at least.
Now? I was the expired canned goods he couldn't wait to toss out.
"Eloise, just sign the damn thing and stop stalling." Frankie's voice was laced with ice as he drummed his fingers on the table, impatient.
Sitting beside him was his new plaything, Lesly Howe.
She was young and radiant, draped in a velvet dress that screamed money.
She was carefully slipping my three-carat wedding ring onto her dainty little finger.
The diamond was too large for her. The ring dangled on her hand like it didn't belong.
"Frankie," she pouted, wiggling her fingers, "I think it's a bit loose."
Frankie finally tore his eyes away from her and looked at me.
The way you'd glance at something rotting by the roadside.
"If you like it, keep it," he said offhandedly. "It's old. I'll get you a new one tomorrow."
His words were weightless.
But they landed like a ten-ton truck on my chest.
He could've meant the ring old.
But we both knew that he meant me.
Five years ago, he slid that ring onto my finger, swearing it stood for forever.
Now, forever had become a punchline.
I picked up the pen.
My hands were shaking.
Ink bled across the page the second the tip touched it.
Lesly let out a high-pitched giggle. "Oh, Eloise, don't be so gloomy. Frankie's letting you keep the house and the money, right? You'll be more than comfortable for the rest of your life."
She said it like she was throwing spare change at a homeless woman.
Frankie said nothing.
His silence was agreement.
That was what they thought I wanted—the money and the house.
But what I wanted was the man sitting across from me.
But five years of trying, and he'd never let me in.
Now that I'd finally stopped hoping, a strange calm washed over me.
I took a deep breath and signed my name—Eloise Steele, bold and final.
When I dropped the pen, it smacked the table with a sharp crack.
Frankie and Lesly both flinched.
"It's done," I said, pushing the papers toward him. My voice, somehow, was steady. "From now on, we're square, Frankie."
He glanced at the document, checked the signature.
"Your stuff's over there," he said, nodding at a lone suitcase by the corner. "Violet packed it for you."
I followed his gaze.
It was a 24-inch suitcase. Five years in the Browning family, and everything I had fit into that one pathetic case.
So that was how much I weighed in his world.
"Thanks," I muttered, grabbing the handle.
The suitcase wheels thudded against the marble floor, echoing like they were rolling over the remains of my heart.
At the door, I didn't look back.
"Frankie," I said, "hope she's everything you've been waiting for."
The door clicked shut behind me.
And right after, Lesly's syrupy voice floated through the door. "Frankie, she's finally gone. Now we can..."
I didn't hear the rest.
That was fine.
Out of sight, out of mind.
I stepped out of that gilded icebox of a mansion.
The late autumn wind slapped my face like a blade.
Dragging my pitiful little suitcase behind me, I must've looked like a ghost.
My phone rang.
It was Laurel Tucker, my best friend and personal fireball.
"Eloise! Tell me everything! Did you sign? Did Frankie bully you? Did that bitch stay with him?" Her words hit me like rapid fire.
I bit my lip. My nose started to sting.
"I did," I whispered. "Just got out."
"Motherf..." Laurel exploded. "Send me your location, now. I'm picking you up. You're officially reborn, babe. Say goodbye to being Mrs. Browning. She's dead. Long live Eloise-freaking-Steele."
*****
Twenty minutes later, her obnoxiously red Beetle screeched to a halt in front of me.
She jumped out and crushed me in a hug.
"Baby girl," she whispered into my ear. "You've been through hell."
Her arms were warm. Her signature perfume clung to my coat.
And I couldn't help my tears.
I cried loud and messy right there on the street like a lunatic.
Five years of swallowing pride, of playing invisible and of being a ghost in my own marriage poured out at once..
Laurel didn't hush me. She just rubbed my back and cursed like a sailor.
She said, "Let it out. Cry till your demons drown. Frankie's a blind, brainless donkey. Gave up a diamond for a cubic zirconia."
"And don't get me started on Lesly. That face is all fillers and filters. What's she so smug about?" She ranted like a queen. I wailed like a banshee.
Pedestrians stared at us.
But I didn't care.
When I was finally out of tears, she shoved me into the passenger seat.
"Get in. We're going full feral tonight—barbecue, crawfish, whatever the hell you want. And babe, we're not going home until we're drunk enough to forget he ever existed."