Chapter 3

Ethan's face was a mask of forced calm.

"Oh, Lily, you and your imagination! Miss Bell is just... a very good friend of the family from way back."

His explanation was pathetic.

I looked at Lily, then at Veronica.

The resemblance was there. Subtle, but undeniable. The shape of the eyes. The curve of the smile.

Disgust churned in my stomach. He was a terrible liar.

A few days later, Ethan announced his decision.

He didn't consult me. He never did, not really.

"Veronica will be joining my company's new biotech research division. I'm making her head of the department."

He beamed, proud of his magnanimity.

My opinion didn't matter. My consent was irrelevant.

I was just the wife. The placeholder.

I had already decided. I couldn't stay.

I remembered Ethan's habit. Signing stacks of investment papers for our joint property ventures without reading them.

Sarah had helped me draft the divorce papers. Comprehensive. Granting me significant assets. And sole custody of "any future children." A meaningless clause, I knew, given what he'd done to me. But it felt like a small, bitter victory to include it.

I slipped the divorce settlement into a thick pile of new investment documents for a property Ethan was eager to develop.

He was in his office, on a call, distracted.

"Honey, can you sign these? Need them couriered by end of day."

He gestured impatiently at the stack.

My hand was steady as I placed them in front of him.

He scribbled his signature on page after page, his mind clearly elsewhere.

He signed the divorce papers.

Relief washed over me. Grim satisfaction.

It was done. I was legally free. Or would be, once filed.

He handed the stack back. "Thanks, love."

I took them. "Ethan, I need some space. Can you and Veronica... go out for dinner tonight? I'm not feeling well."

He barely looked up. "Sure, whatever. Veronica was saying she wanted to try that new Italian place."

He was already dialing another number.

I walked out of his office.

Later, from my bedroom window, I saw them in the garden.

Ethan and Veronica.

He was laughing, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She leaned into him, her hand on his chest.

They looked like a couple. A happy couple.

I heard her say, "...and then, when the foundation is launched, we can finally be open about us, about Lily."

My heart ached. A dull, throbbing pain.

I went to my closet. Pulled out an old shoebox from the top shelf.

Inside, a small, wooden time capsule Ethan and I had buried in the garden on our first anniversary.

Filled with silly notes, dreams for our future.

I took it outside, to the newly barren patch where the white roses used to be.

I dug it up.

The wood was damp.

Inside, our handwritten letters, faded but legible.

"To my dearest Clara, my forever love..."

His words, once so precious, now felt like ash in my mouth.

The next morning, Ethan stood in the garden, staring at the empty flowerbeds.

"Clara! What happened to the roses? My white roses!"

He sounded bewildered. Upset.

"I had them removed," I said, my voice calm.

"But... why? You loved them. They were our roses."

"No, Ethan," I said, meeting his gaze. "They were never our roses."

He looked confused. He genuinely didn't understand. He tried to fix it. "I'll have the gardeners replant them. More of them. Better ones."

Too late. Far too late.

Veronica found me in the kitchen later that day.

She was holding a glass of water, a smug smile on her face.

"You know, Clara," she whispered, leaning close, "Ethan always had a weakness for white roses. Even before you."

Her eyes gleamed with malice.

"And Lily... she really is a delightful child. So much like her father."

Anger, hot and sharp, flared inside me.

She took a step back, "accidentally" knocking a crystal vase off the counter.

It shattered on the floor. A shard flew up, nicking her arm.

A tiny scratch. A single drop of blood.

"Oh!" she cried, clutching her arm. "Clara, how could you?"

Ethan rushed in, alerted by the crash and her cry.

He saw Veronica, her face a mask of pain, the drop of blood on her arm.

He didn't ask what happened.

He turned on me, his face dark with fury. "What the hell did you do?"