Chapter 2

By the time the hospital finished treating my burns and smoke inhalation, it was the following morning.

The doctors wanted me to stay for observation. I said no.

I dragged my casted right leg out of there on crutches and took a cab back to the home I had spent three years building into something beautiful.

The moment I pushed open the front door, a wave of perfume hit me.

My slippers had been kicked aside in the entryway. In their place sat a pair of pink stilettos.

I swapped my shoes without expression and limped into the living room.

What I found turned my stomach.

Katherine was sprawled across the living room's imported massage chair, completely at ease. The one I had bought last month with my entire year-end bonus — spent on relieving Ricardo's supposed "chronic back tension."

She was wearing my limited-edition silk robe. The one I had never once allowed myself to wear.

Ricardo walked out of the kitchen carrying a steaming bowl of soup.

He saw me. His step faltered for just a moment.

Guilt flickered across his face, then disappeared behind a wall of indignation.

"You're back? Why didn't you stay at the hospital a few more days?"

He set the soup on the coffee table. His tone was the same flat indifference you'd use with a stranger who'd wandered into the wrong room.

I kept my eyes on the robe draped over Katherine's body. "Why is she here?"

Katherine startled like a spooked deer and scrambled out of the chair, tugging self-consciously at the hem.

"Hathaway, it's not what you think. The fire took everything I had with me. Mr. Ricardo felt bad for me and offered the guest room for a few days."

"This robe — I found it in the closet with the tags still on, so I assumed no one wanted it. I just borrowed it for now. If it bothers you, I'll take it off right now and wash it."

Her eyes were already going red as she said it. She turned toward Ricardo with the look of someone who needed rescuing.

Ricardo stepped forward immediately, positioning himself between Katherine and me.

"Hathaway, what kind of face is that to come home with?"

"Katherine went through a traumatic experience last night. She had nowhere to go. What's wrong with me bringing her back here?"

"It's just a robe. Are you seriously this petty over a piece of clothing?"

I looked at him standing there, all righteous indignation, shielding her like she was something fragile and precious.

"Traumatic experience?"

I pointed at the cast on my leg. My voice came out hoarse and scraped — damage from the smoke.

"Ricardo, last night when I was pinned inside that fire, you told me your asthma was too bad to come in."

"But then you sprinted into thicker smoke to save her. So what happened to the asthma? Did the fire burn it away?"

The color flooded into his face.

His eyes shifted sideways. He raised his voice to bury the guilt.

"The firefighters were already coming for you. Katherine was on the second floor — with that much fire, she would have died if I hadn't moved. It's not the same."

"Besides, you're strong. You've always been strong. Getting pinned wasn't going to kill you."

"Katherine's health has always been fragile. She can't take what you can."

Strong. Fragile. Convenient.

Because I never complained, never clung to him, kept the household running without asking for anything — I apparently forfeited the right to be saved.

I was shaking. I gripped my crutch and stepped forward, reached out and grabbed the collar of Katherine's robe.

"Take it off," I said. Each word slow and flat.

Katherine shrieked and clutched the fabric to her chest. "Ricardo, help me!"

"Hathaway! What is wrong with you!" He shoved me.

I was already unsteady on one leg. The push sent me stumbling backward, and my casted leg slammed hard against the edge of the coffee table.

The pain exploded through my whole body. I hit the floor and sat there, cold sweat breaking out instantly.

Ricardo didn't look at me. He went straight to Katherine, running his hands up her arms, checking her over.

"Are you okay? Did she scare you?"

Once he was satisfied she was unharmed, he turned and looked down at me. His expression was pure contempt.

"Hathaway, when did you become like this?"

"Do you have any idea what you looked like just now? You were acting like a lunatic."

"I'm telling you right now — Katherine is staying here. If you can't handle that, you can get out."

I sat on the cold floor and looked up at the two of them.

Three years of everything I'd given. And I got "lunatic" and "get out."

I didn't cry. I didn't scream.

I just pressed a hand against the coffee table and slowly pushed myself to my feet.

"Fine," I said.

I looked at Ricardo. My voice was steady and cold.

"I bought this house outright before we were married. It's in my name."

"The one who needs to leave is you."

Ricardo went still. He clearly hadn't expected that. Not from me — the woman who had bent and folded herself for three straight years without breaking.

"Don't push your luck, Hathaway." His jaw tightened.

"Keep this up and we're sleeping in separate rooms. You know my heart can't take this kind of stress. Are you trying to put me in the hospital?"

The same script. Three years of the same script. Any time I held my ground, out came the heart condition, and I'd crumble under the weight of my own guilt.

Not this time.

"Do whatever you want," I said.

I turned and walked toward the master bedroom.

"You have thirty minutes. Take your mistress and get out of my house."

"If you're still here after that, I'm calling the police for unlawful trespass."

I shut the bedroom door behind me and turned the lock.

From the other side came the sound of Ricardo slamming his fists against the door and screaming.

I didn't hear a word of it.

I slid down against the door until I was sitting on the floor, and the tears came — quiet and absolute, like a dam giving way.

Three years.

I gave three years of my life to someone who had never once intended to give anything back.