Chapter 1

I was supposed to be finalizing the marketing strategy for GreenScape' s new "Willow Creek" sustainable living project, but my mind kept drifting.

Mark, my husband and CEO of GreenScape, was supposedly in Boulder for a critical zoning board appeal.

He' d left before dawn, full of nervous energy.

I scrolled through Instagram, a mindless habit. Then I saw it. Mark' s latest post.

It wasn' t a picture of a boardroom or city officials.

It was Mark, in brand-new work boots and an expensive-looking flannel shirt I' d never seen, kneeling in dirt. He was patting soil around a tiny sapling.

The location tag: "Five Points Urban Garden Initiative." Right here in Denver.

Ashley, GreenScape' s new community outreach coordinator, was beside him, beaming, her hand lightly on his arm.

The caption, clearly not written by Mark, gushed: "Real leaders get their hands dirty! So proud to support Ashley' s grassroots initiative for urban renewal. #GreenScapeGivesBack #UrbanGreening #CommunityFirst."

Ashley, with her carefully crafted story of a "disadvantaged rural background" in some West Virginia coal town, the first in her family to "make it."

My Mark, who usually considered a broken nail a crisis, was playing eco-warrior for the camera.

A cold knot formed in my stomach. This wasn't about community, it was about Ashley.

I stared at the picture for a long moment, the faces, the pose, the lie.

Then, I tapped the heart icon. A simple, quiet "like."

My phone buzzed less than five minutes later. Mark' s name flashed on the screen.

I let it ring three times before answering.

"Clara?" His voice was tight, irritated, not the voice of someone in a critical appeal.

"Hi, Mark. How' s Boulder?" I kept my tone even.

"What was that 'like' about on my Instagram?" he snapped, ignoring my question. "My phone' s been buzzing. People are messaging me."

"Just showing some support for your… gardening," I said.

"Don' t be sarcastic, Clara. Ashley saw it. She' s really sensitive about her background, you know. She thinks you' re mocking her, being condescending."

Mocking her? I thought of my summers on my grandparents' organic apple orchard in Washington, dirt under my nails, the sun on my back. Real work. Not a photo op.

"Why would she think that, Mark?"

"Because you wouldn' t understand the struggles people like her face," he said, his voice rising. "Coming from your privileged background, your fancy college, your parents with their comfortable life."

My parents, retired teachers living modestly in Oregon, would have laughed at that. Privileged.

"Just remove it, okay?" he said, his tone shifting, trying to sound reasonable now. "It' s causing unnecessary drama for Ashley. She' s got enough on her plate trying to make a real difference."

Silence. I didn' t say anything.

"Look," he added, a wheedling tone creeping in. "I promise we' ll take that Napa trip next quarter. For real this time. Just… smooth this over."

The Napa trip. Postponed for three years, always for some "critical" work thing. Usually involving him needing to impress someone.

"The zoning appeal must be going well if you have time for this," I said.

A beat of silence. "It' s… complicated. Listen, I have to go. Just remove the like, Clara. For me."

He hung up before I could reply.

I looked at his Instagram post again. Ashley' s smiling face, Mark' s earnest pose.

I didn' t remove the like.

The knot in my stomach tightened. It wasn' t just a knot anymore. It was a decision, cold and clear, settling in.