Chapter 2

After Rhett left, I sat with the leather book in my lap.

I flipped through the pages slowly.

The first print was from three years ago. He had used his pinky—just a small cut. I had caught him leaving a hotel with his secretary at 2 AM. He swore they were just working late. I actually believed him.

The fifteenth print came after I found a receipt for a diamond bracelet. I never received a diamond bracelet. When I confronted him, he said it was a gift for his mother. His mother had been dead for two years.

By the thirtieth, he had moved on to his ring finger. The one that wore our wedding band.

Now all ten fingers were covered in scars. Some faded white, some still pink.

Six months ago, after the eightieth print, I made up my mind.

When it hit one hundred, I would file for divorce.

The monitoring app buzzed. Rhett had arrived at Tessa's apartment.

I muted the audio feed. I didn't need to hear them fuck again.

Three days ago, I had heard enough.

Standing at my mother's grave, I was about to tell her the good news. That she was going to be a grandmother.

Then I heard them.

Moaning. Panting. A woman's voice, high and shameless.

"Right there—yes—harder—"

I followed the sound.

Twenty feet from my mother's headstone, behind the old oak tree, my husband had his ex-girlfriend pinned against the bark.

Her legs were wrapped around his waist. Her head was thrown back. She was laughing between gasps, like this was the funniest thing in the world.

My vision went white.

Every instinct told me to march over there. To drag her off him by her hair. To make her scream for a different reason.

But I didn't.

The Winslows don't air their dirty laundry. Not in public. Not ever.

My mother taught me that.

So I stood there. Fists clenched. Nails cutting into my palms. Watching them finish.

The cramps started before they even pulled apart.

I made it to my car. I drove myself home. I bled through my dress on the way.

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

Just like that, I lost my baby.

The divorce papers were already drafted. My lawyer had started the background check on Tessa weeks ago. I pulled out the folder she sent over and flipped it open.

The first page was a basic profile.

Tessa Holloway. 28. Cosmetologist at Eternal Rest Funeral Services.

A funeral home. She did makeup for the dead.

I flipped to the next page. A timeline of her relationship with Rhett.

They had dated in college. His family disapproved—strongly. His mother had run a background check on Tessa and found something. No one knew what.

Whatever it was, it ended things. Tessa left the country to study abroad, funded by Rhett's mother on one condition: stay away from her son.

Rhett moped for a year. Then he met me.

I thought he had moved on.

I was about to turn to the next page when the monitoring app buzzed again.

I picked up my phone.

Tessa's voice came through, lazy and satisfied.

"Let's go again tonight."

"Now?" Rhett sounded tired. Post-sex tired. "It's late."

"Come on. Same place as last time. It'll be even better in the dark." A pause. "You have the diamond with you, right?"

"It's in my coat pocket."

"Good. I want to wear it when we go. It'll be perfect."

I frowned.

Diamond?

I stood up and walked to the bedroom. To my vanity.

The velvet box where I kept my mother's necklace was sitting in its usual spot.

I opened it.

Empty.

My hands started shaking.

That necklace was made from my mother's ashes. I had commissioned it after she died—two carats of diamond, created from what remained of her.

It never left my vanity. I only wore it on special occasions.

And now it was gone.

In his pocket. For her. To wear at my mother's grave.

That bitch wanted to fuck him again at my mother's grave—wearing my mother around her neck.

I grabbed my phone.

"Get the car ready," I said. "Now."