Chapter 2

It was late when he finally came home, nearly two months after my phone call from the hospital. I heard his keys fumbling at the lock, the heavy thud of the front door swinging open and hitting the wall. He was drunk. I could smell the stale scent of whiskey on him from the top of the stairs.

I was in our bedroom, reading a book, the one I' d been trying to finish for weeks. I didn' t move. I just listened to him stumbling through the hallway, bumping into the console table. A picture frame crashed to the floor. I didn' t flinch. It was a photo of us on our wedding day.

He appeared in the doorway, his tie loosened, his shirt untucked. His hair was a mess, and his face was flushed.

"Sarah," he slurred, a goofy grin on his face. "You' re still up."

He lurched toward the bed, his movements clumsy. He tried to sit next to me, to put his arm around me. I shifted away, creating a space between us. The book remained open in my hands, a flimsy barrier.

His grin faltered. He looked confused.

"What' s wrong?" he asked, his voice thick. "Are you still mad about that phone call?"

I closed my book, placing it carefully on the nightstand. I looked at him, really looked at him. The handsome face I fell in love with was puffy. The charming smile was now just a drunkard's leer.

"I' m not mad, Mark," I said, my voice even. "I want a divorce. I told you."

He blinked slowly, as if trying to process my words through the haze of alcohol.

"A divorce? We' re not getting a divorce." He waved a dismissive hand. "We just had a fight. All couples fight."

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, flat box. It was from a luxury watch brand. He tossed it onto the comforter between us.

"Here," he said, his tone overly generous. "I got you something. To make up for it."

I didn' t look at the box. I looked at his face. He thought this was enough. A watch. Just like the necklace. He thought he could buy my forgiveness, erase his betrayal with expensive trinkets.

"You think a watch is going to fix this?" I asked.

"It' s a nice watch," he mumbled, his eyes starting to droop. "Cost a fortune."

I remembered a conversation from long ago, back when we were still in college, living in a tiny apartment with mismatched furniture. We were broke but we were happy. Or at least, I was.

He had held my hands one night, his eyes shining with sincerity.

"Sarah," he had said, "one day, I' m going to give you everything. A big house, a fast car, all the jewelry you could ever want. I' m going to buy you the world."

I had laughed and told him I didn' t need the world. I just needed him.

But he was so determined. He worked so hard. He built his company from the ground up, and he did it. He had bought me the world, or at least his version of it.

We had the big house in the suburbs. We had two luxury cars in the garage. My jewelry box was overflowing with pieces he' d bought me over the years after every business trip, after every fight.

He had given me all the things he promised.

He had built a beautiful, expensive cage and locked me inside it. He decorated it with diamonds and gold, but it was still a cage. And while he was out building his empire, he had forgotten about the one thing I ever really wanted.

He had forgotten about me.

He was snoring now, his head slumped against the headboard. The watch box sat between us, a symbol of everything he thought mattered, and everything he had gotten so terribly wrong. I picked it up. It was heavy. I didn' t even bother to open it.

I placed it on the nightstand, next to my book. Two months ago he promised to meet me at the courthouse. He broke that promise. Just like he had broken all the others that truly mattered.