Chapter 1

The rain had been falling all afternoon on my daughter's fifth birthday, soft and steady.

I stood outside the kindergarten gates with my umbrella, waiting for her to run out, when my phone buzzed in my hand.

It was a photo posted by Clara Evans, Andrew Bennett's assistant. It showed a children's amusement park, a carousel mid-turn. Andrew was there, crouching beside it, both hands holding onto a little boy in a blue hoodie, looking at the boy gently.

The caption was simple. [My fifth birthday. Daddy rode the carousel with me and promised he'd protect me forever.]

My thumb paused against the screen. Rain slipped off the edge of my umbrella and tapped softly against the ground.

Thirty minutes earlier, Andrew had texted to say something had come up with the Willow City project, that he was out of town and wouldn't make it back tonight.

And somehow, he hadn't remembered that today was Chloe's fifth birthday.

I looked down as Chloe skipped out with her pigtails bouncing, clutching a drawing of our family, all three crayon figures holding hands in a row. "Mommy, is Daddy coming home today? I want to show him this."

I brushed the rain from her cheeks and drew her in. "Daddy's busy. But Mommy's here. We'll celebrate together."

Something in her eyes dimmed, just a flicker, but she nodded anyway. "Okay. I have Mommy."

We skipped the birthday cake that night. Instead, I took her to our usual diner, and we ordered two bowls of clam chowder, the steam fogging up the windows around us.

Chloe whispered, "Mommy, I saw Daddy last week at the mall. He was holding that little boy, and he bought him a really big robot."

It hit me somewhere deep, the way a burn doesn't hurt until it does.

*****

Andrew came home at one in the morning.

He didn't look like a man returning from a business trip. He smelled like caramel popcorn and cedar, the sharp, expensive kind that clung to Clara like a signature.

His eyes skimmed over the room and landed on Chloe's drawing on the table. "Is it her birthday today? I forgot. I'll grab her something next week."

I was sitting on the couch, clutching a printed copy of that post. "You weren't on a business trip," I said. My voice came out very calm.

He froze for half a second. I noticed the flicker of panic before it disappeared and something sharper took its place.

"Emily, are you checking up on me again? I was in Weston Bay. I dropped Clara and her son off at the amusement park on the way. It was his birthday. She's raising him alone. It's not easy."

"On the way?" I slammed the photo onto the coffee table. "Does that look like 'on the way' to you?"

His expression darkened. "You always do this. You take one thing and turn it into a whole trial. Clara and I are coworkers. That's it. Where's Chloe? I'll talk to her. I'll make it up to her."

"She's asleep." I stood and stepped into his path. "And she told me she doesn't want it anymore. The happy birthday from you."

He frowned and reached for my arm. "What is this now?"

"Nothing." I moved away and heard how flat my voice was. "Andrew. I want a divorce."

This was the first time I'd ever said it. Before, no matter how many times he'd disappointed me, I'd always held onto something small and stubborn, as if I just waited long enough, he would come back to us.

But somewhere between that carousel photo and the look on Chloe's face tonight, something in me had finally gone still.

He stared at me. Then he let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "A divorce. Over this?"

"Not over this," I said. "Over all of it. Over every birthday and ordinary day you couldn't be bothered to show up for. Over every degree of warmth you saved for her and didn't have left for us." I held his gaze. "Over the fact that you forgot your daughter turned five today."

He had nothing. For one moment, he had absolutely nothing. "Fine. If that's what you want. But leave Chloe out of it. I'll take the guest room."

I walked into the bedroom. Chloe was supposed to be asleep. Instead, she was curled into a ball at the edge of the bed, blanket pulled to her chin, cheeks wet.

When she saw me, she barely made a sound and burrowed into my arms. "Mommy, am I bad? Is that why Daddy doesn't like me?"

I held her so tight to me. My tears came then, finally. "No, this is not about you. Daddy's bad."

I didn't sleep. When the sky went grey at the edges, I picked up my phone and called my lawyer.