Chapter 1

The newsroom buzzed like it always did on a Monday morning, a low hum of keyboards and hushed conversations, but my focus was shot. Mark, my husband, owner of the Johnson County Chronicle where I worked as an editor, was supposed to be in Springfield for an "urgent business trip." He'd kissed me goodbye Friday, a quick peck, already mentally gone.

I scrolled through Instagram, a mindless habit, and then I saw it. Mark' s personal account, one he rarely used, had a new post. A photo of him at the local Fall Harvest Festival, arm slung casually around Tiffany Hayes, the new social media girl he' d hired. They were smiling, too close, a cider donut shared between them. The caption read: "Great day at the festival with the hardest worker I know! #TeamChronicle #FallFun."

My breath caught, not a gasp, just a quiet stop. He wasn't in Springfield. He was here, in town, with her. The picture radiated an intimacy that punched the air from my lungs. I "liked" the post, a small, almost involuntary tap of my finger. A digital nod. I see you.

Around me, the newsroom gossip, already a low simmer about Mark and Tiffany, suddenly felt louder. Glances flickered my way, then away. They' d seen it too, or heard whispers. I kept my face neutral, staring at my monitor, pretending to edit a piece on city council zoning. My mind, however, was a blank wall. Detached. This wasn't shock, not really. It was confirmation.

My phone buzzed. Mark.

I answered.

"Sarah? What the hell was that?" His voice was sharp, angry.

"What was what, Mark?" I kept my tone even.

"Liking my post. What are you trying to do, embarrass me?"

"You posted it publicly, Mark. At a local festival you weren't supposed to be at."

He scoffed. "I was showing appreciation for Tiffany's hard work. She organized our social media presence there, did a fantastic job. You know how tough her background is, she's trying to make it. The least you could do is be supportive, not act like some jealous teenager."

Jealous. The word hung there. I wasn't jealous. I was… tired. So incredibly tired.

"Right," I said. "Tiffany's hard work."

"Yeah, her hard work. Maybe you should try to understand that instead of looking for problems."

He was defending her, aggressively. He was gaslighting me. Again.

"I have to go, Mark. Work to do."

"Fine. Just think about what I said."

He hung up. I stared at the phone, then placed it down. The buzzing in the newsroom seemed to fade. There was a cold clarity settling in my chest. This was it. This was the end.