Chapter 1

The day I decided to divorce Wyatt Pierce, I went to the old oak tree in the backyard of our first home and dug up a metal lunchbox.

It was a time capsule we buried together in high school, with a promise not to open it until our fiftieth wedding anniversary.

Inside were crumpled concert ticket stubs, handwritten lyrics, and a bracelet woven from soda can tabs.

And an old iPhone 3G—loaded with hundreds of text messages, every single one ending with "I love you."

I stared at it, about to shove the whole box into the trash, when the screen lit up.

The phone that should have been dead for years was ringing.

I answered.

On the other end was my eighteen-year-old self.

The voice trembled with excitement.

"Are you me from ten years later?!"

"Oh my god! Did I marry Wyatt? Do we have kids? Are you happy?"

Three questions.

They hit my dead chest like three bullets.

I didn't know how to tell her that the couple who once only had eyes for each other had become roommates living under the same roof with nothing left to say.

"We're divorced," I said.

The line went silent for five full seconds.

"I don't believe it."

She finally spoke, her voice pulled tight.

"Didn't we love each other more than anything?"

After a moment of silence, I made a request.

"Three days after the SAT scores come out, Wyatt is going to confess to you at prom."

"Cora, turn him down."

...

She didn't speak for a long time.

When she spoke again, her voice was thick with suppressed tears.

"You mean it? You're not lying to me?"

"I don't believe it... Wyatt—he's the Wyatt who fought three drunk guys for me. How could he not love me anymore?"

I gripped the phone and leaned against the trunk of the old oak, my throat dry.

It was true.

Wyatt's love for me had once been reckless, the kind that didn't care about his own safety.

Senior year, the last home football game let out close to midnight.

I took a shortcut through the alley behind the parking lot to catch the last bus.

Three drunk players cornered me.

They whistled, backing me against the wall.

That was when Wyatt showed up.

He came like a provoked animal, one against three, fighting guys way bigger than him.

He still carries the scar on his arm from that night.

But—

The same man who once fought for me could also pin me against a wall after I fired his "special assistant," his eyes cold enough to kill.

"No way!" she shouted over the phone. "You're lying to me, right?"

I flipped through the notes he'd written me in the box.

The ink had faded, but I still recognized his handwriting.

"I wish I were lying."

But I wasn't.

She asked again, "So... do we have kids?"

My hand drifted unconsciously to my lower stomach, where a dull ache still lingered.

My voice came out flat.

"There was one."

She tried to press, but I cut her off.

"I lost it. Two days ago."

Two days ago, Wyatt took me and his assistant, Hayley Sutton, on a business trip to Seattle.

On I-5, a pickup truck ahead blew a tire and spun out of control. We crashed straight into it.

Instinctively, I threw my arms around my stomach.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wyatt, in the split second of impact, spread his arms and shield Hayley tightly against his chest.

After the violent crash, a grinding pain tore through my abdomen.

The baby was gone.

I said all this as if I were telling someone else's story.

I felt absolutely nothing.

This kind of heartbreak—I'd been through it too many times since Hayley appeared.

I'd been drained to the point where I didn't even have the strength left to hurt.

"Oh god..."

My eighteen-year-old self started crying.

That cry made me a little envious.

After ten years in this marriage, I'd grown so numb that even tears had become a luxury.

"How did it come to this? We always wanted a child of our own," she sobbed.

I lowered my eyes and paused for a long moment.

"Probably because Wyatt is in love with that girl now. That's why he protects her with his life, just like he used to protect us."

The other end of the line went quiet.

I wanted to hang up, but the old phone wouldn't respond—no matter what button I pressed, it wouldn't disconnect.

I could only switch it to silent and slip it into my pocket.

When I got home, Wyatt was eating dinner at the bar in the open kitchen.

Without even looking up, he tossed the signed divorce papers at my feet.

"What game are you playing now?"

I crouched down and picked up the papers.

The dragging pain in my lower stomach sharpened.

I spoke, my voice as exhausted as if I hadn't slept in days.

"I'm not playing any games. I just want a divorce. Wyatt, let me go, and let yourself go too."

He set down his glass and finally lifted his eyes.

Those eyes that once held so much love now held only sarcasm.

"Divorce?"

"How many times have you put on this act over the years? What's your excuse this time?"

He took a deep breath, impatience written all over his face.

"Because during the crash, I shielded Hayley and not you?"

"I already explained—she was closer to me. It was instinct. Can you stop being so unreasonable? Isn't my love for you enough?"

Using his own logic, he dismantled every single one of my feelings, sentence by sentence.

I listened, and as always, I said nothing.

He stood up, his tone cold and hard.

"The company retreat to Mount Hood is tomorrow. You're the founder's wife. It won't look good if you don't show up. Be there."

Without waiting for my answer, he disappeared into the hallway.

The house fell silent again.

I took out the phone and unmuted it.

There were stifled sobs on the other end.

She wept, "Go tomorrow. Once we see it clearly, once we're truly dead inside, we'll vanish from his world forever."

I paused. I knew that, right now, she was struggling to accept all of this even more than I was.

I answered softly, "Okay."