Chapter 1
I stood outside the civil affairs office, a cake in my hands for Jason Goodwin, and watched him carry Summer Lynn, fresh from her divorce, into his car.
Just thirty minutes earlier, he'd told me over the phone that an emergency meeting had come up at work and he'd be home late.
Summer was sobbing so hard that her makeup had run. She clung to Jason as if the world had collapsed beneath her feet and he were the only thing left keeping her afloat.
Jason gently patted her back, bending down to soothe her.
He did it so naturally, like he'd done it a hundred times before.
I stood there as the wind whipped the ribbon on the cake box against the back of my hand.
It was soft, yet somehow louder than a slap.
The moment the car door shut, Jason looked up and saw me.
*****
Jason froze for a second.
That second was so brief, he didn't even have time to hide his panic.
I thought he'd get out of the car and explain, or at least come over and ask me what I was doing there.
But instead, he just shot me a look through the window, then told the driver, "Take Summer home first."
The car drove off.
He stayed in the car the whole time, never once stepping out.
I glanced down at the cake; the frosting was already starting to sag.
The words on top were something I'd asked the girl at the bakery to write for me earlier today.
"Happy third anniversary."
I couldn't help thinking; it was almost a joke.
I didn't chase after them.
I didn't cry.
I just carried the cake back to my car, sat in the driver's seat, and sat there for a long time, just staring at those words on the building.
My phone buzzed.
It was from Summer.
It was a photo.
She was wearing Jason's suit jacket, sitting in the passenger seat, her eyes and nose all red, looking so miserable, like her whole world had just fallen apart.
The caption said just one thing.
"Hannah, I'm sorry. Jason didn't want to leave me alone in case something happened, so he's staying with me tonight."
I stared at those words, and suddenly, I couldn't help but laugh.
"First, stay with me." That was Summer's message.
Turns out, as the real wife, I'm not even worthy of being put first, not even for that one word: "first."
I shot back, "You're too kind. After all, the trash can's job is to collect trash first."
Three seconds of silence from her.
Jason called me right after.
I answered.
Jason sounded annoyed as soon as he spoke, "Hannah, do you always have to be so mean?"
I leaned back in my seat, my tone even calmer than I thought it would be. "You saw me."
"Summer's really upset right now. She just got divorced, and Mark keeps bothering her. I took her home first; is that a problem?" Jason said.
"No problem," I said.
"Who you choose to take home is none of my business," I added.
He paused, like he hadn't expected me to be this calm about it.
Then I added, "Happy anniversary, Jason."
There was a long silence on the other end.
I could almost see the awkward look on his face in my mind.
He really must have forgotten.
He forgot today was our third anniversary.
He didn't even remember that I reminded him last night to come home early.
After a moment, he said, "Hannah, don't make a scene right now."
I stared straight ahead, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
"I'm not making a scene," I said.
"Whether you come home or not, it's up to you," I added.
"But starting tonight, whether you come home or not, it's none of my business anymore."
I hung up.
On my way home, I casually scheduled a meeting with a divorce attorney for 10 a.m. the next morning.
As I drove through an intersection, the light turned red.
I stopped, and saw the cake on the passenger seat slide a little, the frosting smearing against the inside of the box, the words blurring.
Guess that's for the best.
Saved me the trouble of ruining it myself when I got home.
That night, Jason really didn't come home.
At 1 a.m., after I finished my shower, my phone buzzed again.
It wasn't Jason; it was my best friend, Chloe.
She sent me a voice message, clearly pissed. "Hannah, I spotted Jason's car parked outside the Grandview Hotel. I double-checked the license plate three times; no mistake."
I pulled up the hotel's location on my phone.
It was twenty minutes from Summer's place.
Forty minutes from my place.
If Jason was "taking her home," then he sure took the scenic route.
Chloe sent another message: [I didn't go up. If you want to check it out, I'll go with you.]
I closed the chat and replied with just two words.
"Not gonna check."
What was the point of checking?
Was I supposed to count how many rooms they had booked, or see if he was crashing next door to her?
The ugliest part of being an adult isn't getting betrayed.
It was knowing the truth would hurt, yet still forcing himself to dig up every last detail and rub it in his own face.
I un-pinned Jason's chat, turned off the lights, and went to sleep.
At 2:30 a.m., I heard the fingerprint lock beep at the door.
I didn't get up.
When Jason stood by the bed, I caught the smell of disinfectant on him, mixed with a trace of some woman's perfume I didn't recognize.
Together, it was just nasty.
He stood there for a while, just staring at me, before eventually whispering, "Hannah."
I kept my eyes shut and didn't move.
He let out a sigh and headed to the bathroom for a shower.
Once the shower was done, he didn't come to bed; instead, he went straight to the study.
The next morning, I was up before him.
I dumped the whole cake from last night right into the trash.
Just as I turned around, Jason walked out of the study, his shirt all wrinkled, dark circles under his eyes from staying up all night.
He spotted the cake in the trash and frowned.
"You're not saving any?" he asked.
I looked at him, almost laughed out of sheer annoyance.
"The cake's a mess. What, am I supposed to keep it for New Year's or something?" I said.
"Hannah," Jason said.
He was clearly holding back his anger. "Can you just talk to me like a normal person?"
I tied off the trash bag and, keeping my cool, asked him, "Where were you last night?"
He paused for a couple seconds.
"Summer totally lost it. Mark was basically stalking her at the hotel, so we ended up at the police station. After that, she was freaking out about being alone, so I asked my assistant to get her a room," he said.
"So you spent the whole night with her?" I asked.
"She just got divorced," Jason said.
"So what?" I shot back.
I looked at him. "So just because she got divorced, you can leave your wife alone on our anniversary—one call from her, and you don't come home all night?"
Jason's frown deepened.
"It wasn't just any night," he said.
"Hannah, we grew up together. She's got no one else," he added.
I nodded. "And what about you? Don't you have a wife of your own?"
He had no comeback.
Things got awkward for a moment.
Jason tried to reach for me, but I stepped away.
His hand froze mid-air, and his expression turned cold.
"Don't start drama," he said.
As soon as he said those words, whatever I was feeling inside disappeared.
Turned out, forgetting our anniversary wasn't the worst part.
And it wasn't even him not coming home all night.
What really hurt was, I was standing right here, and he still acted like I was the problem.
I grabbed my bag. "I've got a lawyer appointment at 10 a.m."