Chapter 2

Liam came home late, smelling faintly of expensive cologne and the city.

He found me on the sofa, staring blankly at the television.

"Ava, baby, you okay? You look pale."

His voice, usually a balm, now grated on my nerves.

I hadn' t told him about the leukemia.

Or about the marriage certificate.

Or about his monstrous plan.

Not yet.

I needed time. I needed a plan of my own.

"Just tired," I mumbled, pulling away as he tried to kiss me.

His brow furrowed. "Rough day at the bakery?"

"Something like that."

He feigned deep concern, his arm going around my shoulders.

I flinched internally.

His touch, once comforting, now felt like a violation.

He started talking about his day, a big deal he was closing.

I tuned him out, the words "Ava project" echoing in my mind.

Over the next few weeks, he was a caricature of the loving boyfriend.

Flowers, sweet nothings, extra affection.

It was all a performance, a calculated effort.

Then he started subtly pressuring me about contraception.

"Don't you think it's time, Ava?" he' d murmur, nuzzling my neck. "My career is finally stable. We could start a family."

A family.

To bring "light" into our lives, he said.

Light for him and Bella, more like.

I saw through his charade.

He was desperate to impregnate me.

Before my health, which he knew nothing about, deteriorated further.

Or before any potential treatment, which he also knew nothing about, could make conception impossible.

"Maybe," I' d say, feigning consideration. "Let me think about it."

I was buying time.

Time to make arrangements for Boston.

Time to figure out how to disappear from his carefully constructed narrative.

His increased physical demands were cloying.

Before, I' d seen his appetite for me as passion, as a sign of his deep love.

His hands were always on me, his desire seemingly insatiable.

I' d felt cherished, wanted.

Now, I saw it for what it was.

A farmer checking his livestock.

A means to an end.

His end.

Bella' s end.

My body was just a vessel.

His touches made my skin crawl.

I feigned headaches, exhaustion, anything to avoid him.

But he was persistent.

"A baby will fix everything, Ava. You'll see."

Fix everything for whom, Liam?

One morning, I woke up with a dull ache in my bones, a familiar companion these days.

I stumbled to the bathroom, nausea rising.

I barely made it to the toilet before I retched.

Not just bile.

Blood.

Bright red against the white porcelain.

Panic seized me.

The leukemia was progressing.

Liam knocked on the door. "Ava? You okay in there?"

"Fine!" I choked out, flushing the evidence. "Just an upset stomach."

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to erase the terror from my eyes.

He was standing there when I opened the door, his expression a mask of concern.

"You're really pale, honey. Maybe you should see a doctor."

The hypocrisy was astounding.

He wanted me healthy enough to breed, nothing more.

Later that day, he was on the phone, his voice low and intimate.

Not with Derek.

With Bella.

I froze in the hallway, listening.

"Yes, darling… I' m working on it… She' s being a little difficult, but I' ll convince her… Soon, my love, soon we' ll have our baby."

My love.

He' d never called me that with such possessive tenderness.

Tears pricked my eyes, hot and bitter.

I was a placeholder. A means to an end.

The words were a fresh stab of pain, even though I already knew.

Hearing it, the casual intimacy with his wife while I stood feet away, was a special kind of torture.

I retreated to our bedroom, the room where he' d spun so many lies.

In the back of the closet, under a pile of old sweaters, was a box.

Mementos.

A vintage band scarf was on top.

He' d "given" it to me during those early NYU days.

After he' d "saved" me from the rumors.

"This reminded me of you," he' d said, his eyes sincere. "Unique, a little bit rock and roll."

I' d cherished it. A symbol of his understanding, his affection.

Now, I remembered Bella. Her style.

This scarf was hers. Discarded, probably.

Recycled for the naive small-town girl.

It felt like a brand on my skin.

I picked it up, the fabric soft, worn.

It smelled faintly of a perfume that wasn't mine.

Bella' s.

The entire foundation of our relationship, his "heroism," was a lie.

A lie he and Bella had likely concocted together.

Liam was still on the phone in the living room.

Bella' s voice, though muffled, carried an edge of impatience.

"…make sure she' s not using anything, Liam. I want this done."

"I know, I know. I' m handling it."

Then, a shift in tone from Bella, possessive, sharp.

"And Liam? When you' re done with… her… for the night, come home. To our home. I don' t like you sleeping there anymore."

"Of course, my love. Just a little longer."

He hung up.

I heard him moving around, getting ready to leave.

He poked his head into the bedroom.

"Feeling better, Ava?"

I nodded, unable to speak.

"Good. I have to go into the office for a bit. Late night."

He blew me a kiss, the gesture obscene.

Then he was gone.

To her.

To their home.

The apartment suddenly felt vast, cold, and alien.

Every corner whispered of his deceit.

The bed we shared.

The sofa where he held me.

All tainted.

His endearments, his "I love yous."

Were they ever for me?

Or was I always just a stand-in for the woman he couldn' t have children with?

A convenient womb with a familiar face.

The realization was a fresh wave of nausea.

This time, there was no blood.

Just the bitter taste of eight years wasted.