Chapter 2

I woke with a gasp, the scent of salt air and damp earth filling my lungs.

My head throbbed.

I was in the Hamptons beach house, the morning after the hurricane.

The morning after I' d cornered Ethan, using every ounce of my Vanderbilt leverage, every unspoken debt his family owed mine, to pressure him into proposing.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Rebirth.

It was real. I was back.

The weight of thirty years of bitterness, of that final, horrifying revelation, pressed down on me.

Ethan. He was downstairs. Probably nursing a hangover and a deep sense of dread.

I wouldn' t do it again. I couldn' t.

This time, he would be free. And so would I.

I found him on the veranda, staring out at the churning grey ocean. He looked young, haunted, the Ethan before our disastrous marriage had carved lines of unhappiness onto his face.

He turned as I approached, his expression wary, expecting another barrage, another demand.

"Ethan," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.

"Ash," he replied, guarded. "If this is about last night…"

"I understand," I cut him off.

He blinked, confusion replacing the defensiveness in his eyes. "You… understand?"

"Yes," I said, forcing a calm I didn't feel. "I was overwrought. The storm, everything. It was a mistake. You love Brittany. You should be with her."

He stared at me, speechless.

"I mean it, Ethan," I continued, the words tasting like ash, but also like a strange, new freedom. "Go to her. Be happy."

I turned before he could respond, before I could see the relief that would surely flood his face, a relief that would be another kind of pain for me.

My path was clear. Paris. The art fellowship Professor Vance had offered, the one I' d foolishly declined for a life sentence with a man who didn' t love me.

This time, I would choose myself.