Chapter 2

I was methodically placing my shoes into a suitcase when the front door opened. Liam was home early.

He strode into the bedroom, tossing his briefcase onto the bed with a weary sigh. He stopped short when he saw my suitcase.

"What's this? Are you going somewhere?"

His tone was casual, but a flicker of annoyance crossed his face. He hated when I made plans without him.

"I'm going to visit my family for a bit," I said, my voice carefully neutral. I folded a silk blouse, my movements precise and deliberate.

I had decided not to confront him yet. Not here. I needed to be on my own ground, backed by my own strength, before I brought our world crashing down.

"Your family?" He frowned. "Why all of a sudden? You haven't seen them in years. Just send them some money if you're feeling guilty."

His dismissive words were like a splash of cold water. That was his solution to everything: money.

"I miss them," I said simply, not looking at him. "Where were you, Liam? You left before I woke up."

He shifted his weight, a brief, almost imperceptible sign of discomfort. "Just some early meetings. You know how it is." He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "Actually, I went to see Summer."

My hands stilled on the blouse. He said it so easily, as if he were discussing the weather.

"She's not doing well," he continued, his voice softening with a sympathy he never showed me. "I just wanted to make sure she was okay."

I stood there, a silent spectator to my husband's devotion to another woman. I remembered all the nights I had waited for him, the dinners that grew cold, the excuses he gave about work. All this time, I had supported his ambition, believing in his dreams, which I thought were our dreams. I managed our home, supported his career, and built my own, all while he was emotionally entangled with someone else.

The imbalance of it all was staggering.

"That reminds me," he said, his mood brightening as if a brilliant idea had just struck him. "We never got to take those wedding photos we talked about. You always wanted to. Let's do it this weekend. My treat."

I stared at him. Wedding photos. Now? The suggestion was so absurd, so completely detached from our reality, that I almost laughed.

"I've always wanted to?" I repeated, my voice flat.

We had been married for six years. In the first year, I had brought it up constantly. I wanted the big white dress, the romantic poses, the tangible proof of our love to hang on our walls. He was always too busy, always had an excuse. "Next month, Chloe." "When this project is over, I promise." After a while, I stopped asking. The desire had faded, replaced by a quiet resignation.

"Yeah," he said, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. "Let's finally do it."

He knew. He had always known how much it meant to me, and he had dangled it like a carrot, a prize to be awarded when he felt generous. It wasn't a shared desire; it was a tool for manipulation.

"I'm not interested," I said, closing the suitcase. The click of the latches sounded final.

His face fell. He looked genuinely confused, and a little annoyed, like a child whose favorite toy had suddenly stopped working.

"What's wrong with you today? I'm trying to do something nice."

"I'm tired, Liam."

He sighed, clearly bored with my mood. "Fine. Suit yourself."

He turned and walked out of the room, not bothering to ask anything more. The argument wasn't interesting enough for him to pursue.

As his footsteps faded down the hall, a profound exhaustion settled over me. It was a weariness that went bone-deep, the cumulative effect of years of quiet heartache and self-deception.

This marriage was a mistake. It was time to end it.

I picked up my purse and walked out the door, not looking back.

I drove to a pre-booked appointment at a high-end photography studio, the one I had bookmarked years ago.

"You look absolutely stunning, Ms. Davis," the photographer said, adjusting a light. "Your husband is a lucky man."

I looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I was wearing a simple, elegant white dress. My hair and makeup were flawless. For the first time in a long time, I saw myself not as Liam's wife, but as Chloe Davis. And I liked what I saw. I was strong, beautiful, and I was about to be free.

Liam was supposed to meet me here. An hour passed. He never showed. He didn't even call.

I wasn't surprised. I wasn't even hurt anymore. I was just... done.

"It seems my husband has been held up," I told the photographer with a serene smile. "I'll be taking these photos alone."

I posed for the camera, not with the blushing joy of a bride, but with the quiet confidence of a queen reclaiming her throne.

I left the studio with a single proof in my hand. It was a portrait of me, alone and smiling. The date was printed at the bottom. It felt like a certificate of independence.

A countdown to the end of my marriage.