Chapter 2

The next day, Sarah took the locket to three different jewelers, specialists in antique restoration. Each one shook their head, their expressions sympathetic but firm. The unique craftsmanship, the miniature portrait's fragility, the age of the metal – it was nearly impossible to repair without risking further, irreversible damage. The locket was a shattered piece of her past, mirroring the state of her marriage.

Mark didn't come home that night, or the next. His side of the bed remained cold, undisturbed. When Sarah finally reached his phone after countless attempts, Tiffany answered, her voice husky, laced with an intimacy that churned Sarah' s stomach.

"Mark's a little busy right now," Tiffany purred. "Can I take a message?"

Sarah' s voice was tight.

"Tell Mark the locket you broke will cost a fortune to even attempt to repair. You will cover it."

A pause, then Tiffany' s saccharine tone.

"Oh, that old thing? I' m so sorry, Sarah. I' m just an intern, you know. My salary is… well, meager."

Mark' s voice suddenly cut in, sharp and angry.

"Sarah, what the hell are you doing? Stop harassing Tiffany. She feels terrible."

"Harassing her?" Sarah' s voice shook. "She broke my mother' s locket, Mark! The one you gave her. Does that mean nothing to you?"

"It was an accident," Mark snapped. "And it's a piece of jewelry. You' re making a big deal out of nothing."

"Nothing?" Sarah felt a dam inside her break. "Like our anniversary was nothing? You missed it to 'mentor' Tiffany. Like me having a 103-degree fever was nothing? You ignored my calls because you were taking Tiffany to a networking event. You told me to take some Tylenol and get over it."

Tiffany' s voice, laced with fake tears, came back on the line.

"Sarah, I' m so, so sorry. I didn' t mean for any of this. I can try to pay for it, really. I' ll save up."

The performance was sickening.

"See, Sarah?" Mark said, his voice softening towards Tiffany. "She' s trying. You' re just being a bully."

He cooed at Tiffany, comforting her. Then, a small gasp from Tiffany.

"Mark… I… I don' t feel so good."

A thump.

"Tiffany? Tiffany!" Mark's voice was frantic. "She fainted! Damn it, Sarah, this is your fault! Her blood sugar must have crashed from all the stress you' re putting her under. I' m taking her to the hospital."

The line went dead.

Sarah stood there, phone in hand, the echo of Mark' s accusation ringing in her ears. Her fault. When she was burning with fever, he' d offered Tylenol. Tiffany faints, and he rushes her to a private hospital. The disparity was a cold, hard slap. Her resolve to cut him off, to dismantle his life, solidified into unshakeable certainty.