Chapter 1
The moment I learned about Rose Sutton, I knew I couldn't look the other way. I asked David Jennings for a divorce that very day.
He locked himself in his study and smoked for hours. When he finally emerged, his voice was raw, almost pleading. "Rose doesn't believe in marriage. She's not a threat to us."
The sheer audacity of it made my blood boil.
I struck him across the face without a second thought.
He pressed his tongue against his stinging cheek, a flicker of irritation darkening his gaze. "It was meaningless. Just a bit of fun. Nothing more. Do you really have to make such a scene over it?"
Then he turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
That evening, I accidentally got through to myself ten years into the future.
On the other end of the video call, she looked utterly drained. Her face was gaunt, her eyes sunken deep into their sockets.
"Claire," she said, "I already went down that road for you, filing for divorce the second I found out he'd strayed. And trust me, it's not a path you want to take.
"There's a saying. The stiff branch breaks first. Love isn't the whole of life. Don't fall for a man. Learn to make use of one.
"You can still get divorced, but not now. Not yet."
*****
The woman on the screen had my face, but she was so gaunt and haggard that I barely recognized her as myself.
My throat tightened as I held her gaze.
I've never been one to back down easily. Stubbornness runs in my bones.
On the day I confronted David and everything came crashing down, I told myself that if marriage was supposed to make life better, then divorce could serve the same purpose.
There was no room for second-guessing. A mistake was a mistake, and the only sensible thing to do was to cut your losses cleanly. I'd never been the type to linger over decisions.
But the woman staring back at me had carved her unhappiness into every line of her face, and I couldn't ignore it.
I took a steadying breath, pushed the churning emotions aside, and asked the one question I needed answered most. "What about Lily? Did she get into Berkley?"
Her expression softened into something almost like pity as she gave a slight shake of her head. "She gave up the violin. She never stuck with it."
I went completely still.
My daughter Lily Jennings is only seven, and already her talent is impossible to ignore.
Her instructor once told me that she was one of the most promising young players he'd come across in years.
Every afternoon, the moment she walked through the door, her bow was in her hand. I'd have to call her to the dinner table three or four times before she'd finally set it down.
Her dream was to become a concert violinist, and she used to tell me that one day she'd play for me in the Golden Hall.
None of it made sense. There was no reason for her to have stopped.
She caught the blank look on my face, but instead of offering any consolation, she pressed on with the same matter-of-fact tone. "What's she charging per hour for tutoring these days?"
"Two hundred."
A faint, wry smile crossed her lips. "Do the math. That alone adds up to over thirty thousand a year. And that's before you even factor in the elite coaching sessions and private admissions consultants for the top schools. That's a whole different ballgame.
"Meanwhile, my salary as a research associate at the lab? Even after ten years, I'm still making just over three thousand a month."
She didn't need to do the math for me. I knew it well enough myself.
Still, there was something else I didn't understand, and I blurted out, "What about David? Lily is his daughter too. Did he do nothing at all?"