Chapter 3

I checked into a small, anonymous hotel.

The next morning, the city was an assault on my senses.

And then I saw it.

Giant digital billboards, plastered across several downtown buildings.

Chloe' s smiling face, young and radiant.

Underneath, in bold letters: "Happy 19th Birthday to my amazing Chloe! Love, E.H."

Ethan Hamilton. His grand gesture, for everyone to see.

The humiliation was a fresh wave, public and undeniable.

This was why he needed the "temporary" divorce so quickly. To celebrate her, unencumbered.

A memory surfaced, sharp and painful.

Our first anniversary. Ethan had filled our apartment with a thousand white roses.

He' d written me a song, his voice earnest and full of love.

"You' re my world, Sarah," he' d whispered. "Forever."

Another time, for my birthday, he' d chartered a small plane to fly over a beach where he' d had "I LOVE SARAH" written in massive letters in the sand.

His efforts to woo me then were legendary, passionate.

Now, that passion, those grand gestures, were for someone else.

He had forgotten his "forever." Or perhaps, his definition of it was just more flexible than mine.

I had one last duty. His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton.

I always handled their regular health check-up reports, scheduling appointments, making sure they took their medications.

They had been wary of me at first, I wasn' t from their old-money world.

But over the years, they' d grown to love me. I cared for them, genuinely.

I drove to the Hamilton estate, the familiar gates swinging open.

As I approached the house, I heard raised voices from the drawing-room.

Mrs. Hamilton: "Ethan, how could you? Bringing that... that girl into our home! After everything Sarah has done for us, for you!"

Mr. Hamilton: "It' s a disgrace, son! You have a wife, a wonderful wife! What are you thinking?"

Ethan' s voice, defensive: "Chloe is not 'that girl,' Mother. And Sarah understands. We' re just taking a short break."

A short break. He was still spinning his lies.

I saw Ethan through the window, looking stressed, Chloe beside him looking petulant.

I quietly left the envelope with the reports and their medication schedule with the housekeeper at the door.

I didn' t want to face them, or him.

As I drove away, Ethan must have been alerted by the housekeeper.

My phone buzzed. A text from Ethan.

"Sarah? Were you just here? Why didn' t you come in?"

Panic. Realization he' d been exposed, his lies to his parents about my "understanding" potentially unravelling.

Another text followed immediately.

"Mom and Dad are just overreacting. You know how they are. You' re still Mrs. Hamilton, Sarah. Nothing changes that. This is temporary."

The same hollow reassurances.

I replied simply: "Delivered the health reports. Make sure your father takes his new heart medication with food, it upsets his stomach otherwise. Your mother' s blood pressure was a bit high, she needs to rest."

Vital information he should have been tracking, but never did.

His reply came a minute later.

"Oh. Right. Thanks."

Then, a notification: "$50,000 has been transferred to your account."

Followed by his text: "Go have some fun, Sarah. Relax. I' ll see you in a week, wifey."

He thought I was jealous, angry. He thought money could fix it.

He still didn' t get it. He never would.

Wifey. The word felt like ash in my mouth.

Six days left.