Chapter 2

2.

The explosion came quickly.

Mrs. Miller: Emily! What is the meaning of this? Why would you send something so vulgar to the family chat at this hour?

Mrs. Miller: Have you lost your mind? A game? You're making a scene over a phone game? Jason manages a portfolio worth hundreds of millions of dollars. He's under immense pressure. He doesn't have time for your childish insecurities.

Mrs. Miller: If you spent half as much time supporting your husband and building a family as you do spying on his phone, maybe he wouldn't be so stressed.

I read the messages, my face blank. It was always the same script. Deflect, attack, and blame the wife.

My phone buzzed in my hand. It was Jason.

He wasn't going to wait until tonight.

"Babe," he said the second I answered. The impatience was gone, replaced by an urgent, placating tone. "Babe, listen to me. Take a deep breath."

"I'm breathing just fine, Jason," I said, walking to the window and looking out at our perfectly manicured lawn.

"I saw the group chat. Why would you do that? Mom is freaking out. She's already got high blood pressure over the charity gala next week. Are you trying to put her in the hospital?"

"I was worried," I lied, my voice dripping with fake concern. "You said it was a prank. I was worried your account was hacked. Identity theft is serious, Jason. If someone is impersonating a Miller, we should call the police, right?"

"No! Don't call the police!" he yelled, then lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "Emily, stop it. Please. It was… okay, look. I lied."

My heart pounded. Was he going to confess?

"It wasn't a guy. It's a girl. A new intern. Gen Z. You know how they are. Fresh out of NYU, completely clueless about boundaries. Her boyfriend cheated on her, and she… she stole my phone's password to try and make him jealous. She thought if she posted on my account, her ex would see it. It was stupid. It was childish."

"And you just let her?"

"I didn't know at the time! I just found out. I already chewed her out. She's in the breakroom crying her eyes out right now. I told her she's fired if she ever pulls a stunt like this again. I'm deleting the app right now. Okay?"

He paused, waiting for my approval.

"Honey, you know I love you. You're the only one. Don't let some crazy intern ruin our morning. Please, for my sake, take down the post in the group chat. Tell Mom it was a misunderstanding. She's really upset."

He was good. He blamed a "crazy intern," played the victim, and then pivoted to "protecting his mother" to make me feel guilty.

"Fine," I said, my voice hollow. "I'll handle your mother."

"Thank you, babe. You're the best. I'll make it up to you. I'll come home early. I'll cook. Truffle risotto? Your favorite."

"Okay."

I hung up and went back to the group chat.

Emily: Sorry, Mom. Jason just explained. It was a security breach at the office, a prank by a disgruntled intern. It's being handled internally. False alarm.

I deleted the screenshot.

Mrs. Miller: I should hope so. Next time, get your facts straight before you embarrass your husband. Emily, you need to get a grip. This is mortifying.

Forty minutes later, Jason's Porsche pulled into the driveway. He didn't look like a man who'd had a hard morning at work; he looked like a man who'd been doing damage control.

He burst through the door, his tie loose and sleeves rolled up to his forearms―a look he knew I loved. He came straight to me, wrapping me in a hug that felt more like a cage.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into my hair, smelling of Le Labo Santal 33 and the faint, metallic scent of anxiety. "I felt sick all morning. I couldn't focus."

He pulled back, cupping my face in his hands. "You know you're my whole world, right? These interns, they're nothing. They're just… noise."

"Noise," I repeated.

"Yeah. Noise." He kissed my forehead. "Now, why don't you go relax? Take a bath. I'll get dinner started. I picked up that bottle of Monte Bello you love."

He smiled, that dazzling, charming smile that had won over clients and my parents.

I nodded, turned, and headed for the stairs. But instead of going to the master bedroom, I turned down the hall toward my art studio.

"Where are you going?" Jason asked, his voice sharp.

"Just… need to check a sketch," I called back over my shoulder. "For the book."

I stepped into my sanctuary. The room smelled of graphite and paper. My drafting table was covered in sketches for "The Little Fox Without a Tail." It was my soul on paper, a story about finding wholeness in a broken world.

I walked over to the main illustration board. There, tucked into the corner of a drawing of the fox crying, was something that hadn't been there yesterday.