Chapter 2
The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Mark's Westlake mansion, casting everything in that golden Texas light.
What I didn't expect was to be trapped in it like some invisible prisoner.
I'd tried everything to leave this goddamn house. Tried to float toward the front door, tried to will myself back to my office, even tried to visit my mother who was probably crying herself sick over my empty hospital bed.
But every time I drifted more than fifty feet from Mark, some invisible force yanked me back like a dog on a cosmic leash.
So here I was, watching my husband hum while he prepared breakfast for his mistress at 7 AM.
I floated near the kitchen island, watching him arrange fresh orange slices like he was plating for Gordon Ramsay. When had he learned to cook like this?
"Mmm, something smells amazing," Jessica purred, wrapping her arms around Mark's waist from behind.
Mark turned in her embrace, his face lighting up.
"Only the best for my savior," he said, pressing his lips to her forehead with reverent tenderness.
"Babe, today we're going to see Johnson ranch's property," Mark continued, his hands never leaving her waist. "You ready to become Texas's most beautiful real estate queen?"
Jessica's giggle was pure honey and arsenic. "Only if you're by my side. Oh, and those materials you prepared last night were incredibly detailed."
"I stayed up until midnight getting everything perfect," Mark replied. "The Johnsons are old-school Texas oil money. They respect thoroughness."
The memory hit me like a freight train: Mark finding me at 2 AM hunched over files three weeks ago.
He asked, "Lisa, why are you still up?"
I responded, "Just want to make sure everything's perfect for your presentation, honey."
He said, "Whatever. Just don't wake me up when you finally drag yourself to bed."
But here he was, taking credit for my research while feeding another woman breakfast like she was some kind of princess.
The Neiman Marcus in downtown Austin gleamed like a temple.
I floated behind Mark and Jessica as they strolled through the handbag section, her fingers trailing over leather that cost more than most people's rent.
"This one," Mark said, lifting a burgundy Hermès bag with reverential care. "It matches you."
Five thousand dollars. The price tag might as well have been written in my blood.
Jessica's gasp was pure delight. "Mark, you can't. It's too expensive."
Mark replied, "Nothing's too expensive for you, baby. You're worth everything beautiful in this world."
He handed over his bank card without even flinching.
You son of a bitch.
The memory crashed over me like a brutal wave: standing in that same store eighteen months ago, holding a simple leather work bag—brown, practical, three hundred dollars.
Mark remarked, "Lisa, are you insane? Three hundred for a bag? The company's hemorrhaging money and you want to waste cash on accessories?"
I said, "It's for work, Mark. My current one is falling apart."
He responded, "Then tape it together. Jesus Christ, how can you be so selfish?"
I'd walked out empty-handed that day, carrying my files in a grocery store tote for the next six months until I could justify the expense of a forty-dollar bag from Target.
But here was Jessica, squealing with delight.
"You spoil me," she giggled, pressing against his chest.
"You deserve to be spoiled," Mark murmured, his voice thick with an adoration I'd never heard directed at me. "You saved my life, my business, everything. How could I not give you the world?"
I gave you the world. I gave you my whole fucking world.
The evening light painted Austin's skyline in shades of amber and rose as we sat on the balcony of Jessica's high-rise apartment—the one Mark was paying for, obviously.
They'd just returned from dinner at Jeffrey's, where I'd watched the servers treat them like visiting royalty and Mark slip the hostess a hundred-dollar tip.
The same restaurant where I'd begged him to take me for our anniversary last year.
"It's too pretentious, Lisa. And expensive. Can't we just do Olive Garden?" he said.
But apparently Jessica rated the best table in the house and a two-hundred-dollar bottle of wine.
"Mark, darling," Jessica said now, tracing patterns on his forearm with manicured nails. "Tomorrow's contract is so complicated. Could you help me review it? I don't want to mess anything up."
The request was pure manipulation wrapped in silk, but Mark melted like ice cream in August.
Mark replied, "Of course, sweetheart. You just focus on being your beautiful self. I'll handle all the boring paperwork."
Another memory surfaced like a knife to the gut: me asking Mark to help print contracts for a client meeting because our office printer was broken.
"Lisa, aren't you supposed to be my assistant? This is literally your job. Figure it out yourself."
I'd driven to Kinko's at 6 AM to get everything printed, then smiled through the presentation like my husband hadn't just treated me like hired help.
But Jessica got full-service treatment and wine and candlelight.
They moved inside as the evening grew cool, Jessica leading Mark toward the bedroom with practiced seduction. I should have looked away. Should have tried again to break free from this cosmic tether that kept me trapped in my own personal hell.
Instead, I watched Mark pause at the bedside table and quietly slip off his wedding ring.
Our wedding ring. The white gold band I'd saved for months to buy, inscribed with "Forever yours, L" in tiny script.
He placed it carefully in the far corner of the nightstand, hidden behind Jessica's jewelry box like a shameful secret.
Even our marriage vows don't matter to you anymore.
Jessica was already under the silk sheets, arms outstretched in invitation, and Mark went to her with the kind of desperate hunger I'd thought was reserved for action movies and romance novels.
Not for wives who stayed up until midnight preparing client materials.
Not for women who sacrificed their dreams to fund their husband's ambitions.
Not for me.
As I floated there watching my husband make love to another woman with a passion he'd never shown me, one terrible truth crystallized in my consciousness:
Mark loved Jessica the way I'd always dreamed he'd love me.
And I was dead, so he never would.