Chapter 3

The next morning, I tried to act normal, a hollow shell moving through a life that no longer felt like mine.

"Do you really love me, Liam?" I asked, my voice carefully neutral as he made coffee.

He turned, surprised, a coffee mug in his hand.

"Of course, I do, Sarah. What kind of question is that? After six years?"

He smiled, that easy, charming smile that used to make my heart flip.

Now, it just looked practiced.

He walked over, kissed my forehead, "Don't be silly."

His words were smooth, reassuring, but his eyes didn't quite meet mine.

The lies just kept coming, so effortlessly.

Later that day, I was tidying the living room when Liam' s phone, left on the coffee table, buzzed.

I glanced over, not meaning to pry, but the notification lit up the screen.

A message from "Chloe M."

I' m divorced. It' s finally over. Do you still want me, Liam?

My blood ran cold.

Liam walked in right then, saw me looking at his phone, saw the message.

Panic flashed across his face, raw and undisguised.

"Work emergency," he stammered, grabbing his phone and keys. "Gotta go, big client issue."

He was out the door before I could say a word.

A work emergency on a Saturday afternoon, from Chloe.

I knew where he was going.

I grabbed my own keys, my heart pounding a sick rhythm against my ribs, and followed him.

He drove to a small, upscale cafe downtown, a place we' d never been.

I parked across the street, hidden, watching.

Chloe was waiting at an outdoor table, looking artfully distressed.

He sat down, they talked, his expression earnest, hers shifting from sad to hopeful.

Then I saw him slide an envelope across the table, a thick envelope.

Our joint savings, the money for our house down payment. I knew it.

He was giving it to her.

He seemed to be explaining something, maybe about me, about us getting married.

Chloe listened, then she leaned in, touched his arm, and kissed him, a long, lingering kiss.

Liam didn' t pull away, he closed his eyes, and for a moment, he even leaned into it.

Then he said something, she nodded, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips.

He left her there, walking back to his car with a look I couldn't decipher, a mix of guilt and something else, something that looked disturbingly like relief.

My substitute role had never been clearer. He was hers for the taking.