Chapter 3

Sylvia chose a high-end sushi spot.

When I arrived, she and Garrett were already seated. She sat right next to him, leaning in to whisper something. They were so close I could see the curve of her eyelashes.

Garrett was laughing.

I had seen that laugh before. When he smiled at me, it was just a slight lift of the lips―polite and restrained. When he looked at her, his whole face lit up. His eyes shone.

I walked over and sat down.

"Sienna, I finally get to meet you," Sylvia said as she poured my tea. Her movements were elegant. "Garrett always tells me how wonderful you are. Seeing you today, you're even better than he described."

"Is that so? What exactly does he say about me?"

"That you're gentle, generous, and that you take great care of him." She smiled and turned to Garrett. "Garrett, you really did marry a good wife."

Garrett didn't respond. He just lowered his head to sip his water.

I noticed a bangle on Sylvia's wrist. It was white gold encrusted with diamonds. On the inside was a tiny logo from an exclusive boutique brand.

I had only ever seen that brand in magazines. Supposedly, every piece was numbered, and the founder was notoriously picky about his clientele.

How could someone who came back home because of "poor health" afford something like that?

"What do you do for a living, Sienna?"

"I'm an architect."

"Wow, that's impressive," she said, blinking. "My health is too poor for a real job. I just stay home and write a bit. I don't make much money."

I just gave her a small smile.

During the meal, she mentioned "when we were abroad" seven times. She said "Garrett, you know me best" five times. And three times, she said, "I shouldn't have come back. I don't want to be a burden to you two."

Every time she said that last line, she would look down. She acted as if she were suffering some great injustice.

Garrett's eyes never left her.

"Don't say that," he finally spoke, his voice tender. "I'm happy you're back."

I looked at my reflection in the teacup. The surface of the water trembled.

On the drive home, I sat in the passenger seat. He drove, and Sylvia sat in the back. She mentioned she felt "a little unwell," so he cranked up the heat. He kept checking on her in the rearview mirror.

I rolled down my window.

"Close the window. Sylvia is sensitive to the wind," he said.

I rolled it back up.

Once we were home, I stood in the bathroom washing my hands. The water pressure was high, splashing onto the mirror.

The person in the mirror was still me. My makeup wasn't smeared, and my hair wasn't messy.

But I could see that something in my eyes had shattered.

My phone buzzed. It was a friend request from Sylvia. After I accepted, she sent a photo―a picture of her and Garrett from their college days.

The caption read: "I really miss those times."

I didn't reply.

I opened my notes and read through the divorce agreement one more time. Then I went online and searched for a new suitcase.

I told myself: "Just wait a little longer."

Wait for the final string to snap.