Chapter 1

My husband, Callum, dropped $90,000 on a Tesla Model X last week.

He called it an early ten-year anniversary gift---a shiny trophy to prove we'd finally left our broke years behind.

I believed him.

Outside, a summer storm hit the city hard, driving rain against the trees and rattling our kitchen windows.

I unlocked my phone and tapped the Tesla app, aiming to warm up the seats for his drive home from the office.

My thumb froze over the glass.

The GPS pin wasn't downtown.

It sat motionless in the lot of St. Jude's Women's Pavilion---a private, expensive maternity clinic fifteen miles away.

Status: Parked.

Passenger Seat: PREGNANCY MODE.

Cabin Temp: 74°F.

The air in my lungs felt heavy, like swallowing wet sand.

My phone buzzed with a text from my ten-year-old daughter, Wren.

Wren: [Mom, my umbrella broke. Is Dad here? Rain is coming under the roof and the teacher wants to lock up.]

I swallowed hard, took a screenshot of the car's location, and ordered Wren an Uber Black straight to the school curb.

I wasn't pregnant.

Which meant Callum wasn't stuck in a late meeting.

He was warming the seat for someone else while his own kid stood shivering on the sidewalk.

Twenty minutes later, the front door clicked open.

Callum kicked off his shoes, shaking water from his coat.

He smelled like rain, coffee, and a faint trace of sweet vanilla perfume.

"Traffic was insane," he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair. "Is Wren upstairs? Did she get home alright?"

I stood by the kitchen island, keeping my arms folded. "I called her a car. She's taking a hot bath."

He paused, a tiny flicker of something tight in his eyes before his smooth smile returned. "My bad, babe. Urgent client thing right as I stepped toward the garage. Sorry you had to handle that."

He leaned in to kiss my cheek. I didn't pull away, but I picked up a hand towel from the rack and shoved it into his chest.

"Go dry off," I said softly. "You're dripping on the floor."

He took the towel without a thought and walked down the hall to the bathroom.

The second the water started running, I plugged in the hairdryer on the counter.

As Callum walked back out in his bathrobe, I ran the warm air over his damp hair.

That was when I saw it.

A single, long, wavy brown hair snagged on his collar.

My hair was stick-straight and jet-black.

I didn't pull it off. I didn't yell.

I kept my hand steady, watching him lean his head back, completely relaxed.

He thought I was still the quiet wife who stayed home, managed the house, and asked no questions.

"All done," I murmured near his ear.

"Thanks, honey," he said, patting my hip before heading into his office.

Once his door clicked shut, I sat at the kitchen counter alone in the quiet house.

I opened the Tesla app one last time before bed.

The Tesla was still parked fifteen miles away in Oak Ridge Estates---the wealthiest gated neighborhood in town.

Right outside the gate, a rideshare pin was flashing.

He had left his $90,000 car in another woman's driveway and taken a Lyft home to my bed.