Chapter 1

Ethan stared at the platinum band on Sarah' s finger, the same one he' d placed there six years ago. She was twisting it, a nervous habit she only had when she was about to ask for something she knew he wouldn't like. They were supposed to be celebrating their anniversary next week, a trip to the coast he had been planning for months.

"Ethan," she started, her voice soft, "about the trip... I don't think I can make it."

He looked up from his coffee, the morning quiet of their kitchen suddenly feeling tense. "What do you mean? I've already booked everything."

"I know, and I feel terrible," she said, avoiding his eyes. "But a huge project just came up at work. It's in a different city, and it's mandatory. I have to go."

The excuse was smooth, practiced. It was always work. Sarah was successful, driven, and he had always admired that about her. But this felt different. An anniversary she had been excited about was now just an obstacle.

"Can't you postpone it? Or tell them it's our anniversary?" he asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"I can't," she insisted, finally meeting his gaze. Her eyes were pleading, but there was something else behind them, something he couldn't read. "It's just bad timing. We can celebrate when I get back, I promise."

He didn't argue further. He just nodded, a hollow feeling starting to grow in his stomach. The routine was broken. The peace was gone.

Later that day, he offered to take her car for a wash before her "trip." As he was vacuuming the passenger side, his hand brushed against something stuffed deep between the seat cushions. He pulled it out. It was a small, folded piece of paper, worn and soft from being handled many times. He unfolded it.

It was a child's drawing. A stick figure of a woman with long brown hair, labeled "Mommy." Next to her were two smaller stick figures, a boy and a girl. Underneath them, in messy, childish scrawl, were the names "Leo" and "Mia."

Ethan froze. They didn't have children. They had talked about it, but Sarah always said she wasn't ready, that her career was too demanding. He stared at the drawing, his heart starting to pound. It could be anything. A nephew's drawing. A friend's kid. But the word "Mommy" stared back at him, an accusation. His mind flashed back to a phone call he'd overheard last month. Sarah was in the garden, her back to him, her voice low and sweet. "Don't worry, my sweet boy," she had cooed. "Mommy will be there soon." He had assumed she was talking to a friend's child on speakerphone. Now, the memory felt sinister.

He thought about the last six years. He remembered their wedding day, her face bright with what he thought was pure love. He remembered the nights she'd come home late, smelling of a perfume he didn't recognize, explaining it away as a client gift. He recalled the frequent, last-minute "business trips" to cities he'd never heard her mention before. Each memory, once a testament to their busy but happy life, now seemed like a piece of a puzzle he had been too blind to see. The love he felt, the trust he had given so freely, now felt like a joke. He was a fool.

That evening, they attended a charity dinner hosted by Sarah' s company. She was in her element, moving through the crowd with a practiced grace, her hand resting possessively on his arm. He played his part, smiling at her colleagues, accepting their compliments on what a perfect couple they were. But inside, he felt a cold rage building. When she leaned in to kiss his cheek for a photo, he subtly turned his head, so her lips landed on his jaw instead. It was a small, almost imperceptible act of defiance, but for him, it was a declaration. He could no longer stand her touch.

He excused himself, needing air. He walked down a quiet corridor, the muffled sounds of the party fading behind him. He stopped near a service exit, leaning against the cool wall. Then he heard voices from around the corner. It was Sarah, and her mother.

"You have to be more careful, Sarah," her mother's voice was a sharp whisper. "Leaving the children's drawings in the car? What if Ethan had found it?"

"He won't," Sarah's voice was dismissive. "He trusts me completely. He thinks I'm going on a business trip. He never suspects a thing."

"Five years is a long time to keep this up," her mother sighed. "David is getting impatient. He wants you to choose."

"And I will," Sarah said, her voice turning hard. "But on my terms. I have everything here with Ethan. The stability, the reputation. I'm not giving that up. David and the kids will have to wait."

The words hit Ethan like physical blows. Five years. Two children. A whole other family. The man's name was David. It wasn't a secret affair; it was a completely separate life. His entire marriage was a lie, a carefully constructed stage play where he was the unwitting lead actor. The air in his lungs felt thick, suffocating. He backed away silently, his mind a storm of grief and fury.

He walked out of the venue, not looking back. The city lights blurred through the tears welling in his eyes. He didn't go home. He walked for hours until he found himself standing on a bridge, staring down at the dark, swirling water below. The pain was unbearable, a physical weight crushing his chest. Divorce wasn't enough. A divorce would be messy, public, and it would still connect him to her. He wanted out. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to erase himself from her life as completely as she had erased their marriage. He wanted her to feel a fraction of the loss he was feeling. He wanted her to believe he was dead.

His hands shaking, he pulled out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts until he found the one person he knew he could trust with his life. Olivia. His best friend since college.

He pressed the call button.

"Liv," he said, his voice cracking. "I need your help. I need to die."