Chapter 2

I didn't sleep. The image of them celebrating was burned into my mind. When Ethan finally walked through the door the next morning, he looked annoyed to see me sitting on the sofa, waiting.

"What are you still doing up?" he asked, loosening his tie.

I held up my phone, showing him the picture. "You were celebrating."

He glanced at it and scoffed. "Tiffany was distraught. I was trying to calm her down. Is that a crime?"

"She killed our son, Ethan. And you celebrated with her."

His face hardened into a mask of contempt. "I told you, it was an accident. The court agreed. She had a psychotic break. She wasn't responsible."

"She wasn't sick," I said, my voice rising. "She was drunk. The initial police report said so."

"That report was flawed," he snapped. "My experts proved that. You should be grateful I managed to keep this from becoming an even bigger scandal."

Grateful? My world had been shattered, and he wanted me to be grateful.

"I'm not grateful," I said, standing up. "I'm leaving you."

He laughed. A short, ugly sound. "Leaving me? Don't be ridiculous, Sarah. Where would you go? Back to that rundown shack you grew up in? You have nothing. No one."

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "I gave you everything. This house. This life. You were a nobody before me."

The cruelty in his words was suffocating. I had married him because I was lonely and he had promised me a family, a home. After my first husband, a firefighter, died in the line of duty, and with my father gone, I craved that stability. I had been a fool.

"And you," I shot back, "you married me because Tiffany dumped you for some European count. I was your consolation prize, wasn't I? A way to prove you could have a perfect family, even without her."

His face went pale with rage. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin.

"You will not speak of her that way."

"Let go of me, Ethan."

"Or what?" he sneered. "You'll call the cops? Tell them what? That your powerful, well-respected husband is a monster? Who do you think they'll believe?"

He was right. His family, the Caldwells, practically owned this city. Their name was on buildings, on charity boards, in the pockets of politicians. I was an orphan from the wrong side of the tracks.

He let me go, pushing me back onto the sofa.

"Now, stop this nonsense," he said, straightening his suit. "We can just have another kid."

The words hung in the air, so callous, so monstrous, that I couldn't breathe. He was talking about our son, our Leo, as if he were a broken toy that could be easily replaced.

My phone buzzed again. It was another text, this time from Tiffany herself.

"Did he tell you the best part? I ran over your little brat on purpose. Backed up and did it again just to make sure. And Ethan? He got me the best doctor his money could buy to say I was crazy. He's so good to me."

I stared at the screen, the words swimming before my eyes. This wasn't just a betrayal. This was a conspiracy. My husband hadn't just defended our son's killer. He had helped her get away with murder.