Chapter 2

The day I was discharged from the hospital, David didn't come to pick me up. He sent a driver. He was at home, doting on Emily, who was resting on the sofa, looking pale and triumphant.

"Olivia, you're back," he said, barely glancing at me as he fluffed a pillow behind Emily's head. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I said. The word was a shard of glass in my mouth.

I walked past them and went upstairs to our bedroom. My room. My prison. I started by clearing out my past. I opened the closet and pulled out the expensive gowns David had bought me, the designer bags, the shoes. I piled them on the floor. They meant nothing.

I left the jewelry in its velvet boxes. He could sell it. He could give it to Emily. I didn't care. The only thing I took was a small, plain wooden box from the back of my drawer.

I didn't pack a bag. Where I was going, Olivia Clark's things would be a liability.

I walked out of the house, the pile of clothes a silent testament to the life I was leaving behind. The driver was waiting, but I waved him off and called a taxi.

My first stop was a park on the other side of the city. There was a small, wrought-iron bridge over a creek, its railings covered in padlocks. "Love locks." David had put one there for us years ago, a brass lock engraved with our initials.

I found it easily. D.M. + O.C. I pulled a pair of bolt cutters from my purse. With a sharp, satisfying snap, the lock broke and fell into my hand. I didn't throw it in the creek. I put it in my pocket. A reminder of a promise broken.

I stood there for a long time, watching the water flow, feeling the cold metal in my hand. I whispered a new promise, not to a man, but to myself.

"I will be happy," I said to the wind. "I will be free."

My next stop was a cemetery. Not the one where my lost children were buried in their tiny, unmarked graves. I couldn't bear to go there. I went to the grave of my grandmother, the only person who had ever loved me without condition.

I sat on the grass and opened the small wooden box. Inside was my wedding dress, or what was left of it. I had cut it into small, manageable squares. One by one, I took them out and, using a lighter, set them on fire in a small, portable metal basin I had brought.

I watched the white silk turn to black ash, the lace curling and disappearing into smoke. It was the physical manifestation of my marriage, of my love for David, turning into nothing.

When the last piece was gone, I felt a strange sense of release. The smoke drifted up into the sky, and with it, a weight I had been carrying for years.

I got back home just as David was returning with Emily from a follow-up appointment. They were laughing about something, their heads close together. Emily was holding his arm, leaning on him in a way that was more intimate than sisterly.

They saw me standing in the doorway and their laughter died.

"Olivia," David said, his voice laced with an annoyance he didn't bother to hide. "Where have you been? I was worried."

"Were you?" I asked, my voice flat. I looked at Emily, who was staring at me with a smug satisfaction. "It looks like you were busy."

David had the grace to look uncomfortable. "Emily wasn't feeling well. I had to take her to the doctor."

"Of course," I said. I walked past them into the house.

Later that evening, he came into the bedroom holding a small, velvet box. Another peace offering.

"I got you something," he said, holding it out.

I didn't take it. "I don't want it."

"Olivia, please. I know the past week has been hard..."

"Hard?" I interrupted, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "You forced me to kill our child, David. 'Hard' doesn't quite cover it."

He flinched. "Don't say it like that. It was a medical necessity."

"It was a choice," I corrected him. "And you chose her."

From the doorway, Emily watched us, her eyes glittering with malice. She saw her moment. She walked slowly into the room, her steps deliberately weak.

"David," she whimpered, "my head hurts."

She stumbled, and it was a pathetic, obvious act. She fell against a side table, knocking over a lamp. It shattered on the floor.

"Olivia, what did you do?" David yelled, rushing to Emily's side without a second glance at me.

"I didn't touch her," I said calmly.

"David, she pushed me," Emily sobbed into his chest. "She said... she said she wished I was dead."

"I didn't say that," I stated, my heart cold and still.

Emily cried harder, a performance worthy of an Oscar. "She's angry about the baby. She blames me. She hates me."

David held her, stroking her hair, murmuring comforting words. He looked at me over her shoulder, his eyes filled with rage and disappointment. "Look what you've done. She's fragile."

"She's a liar," I said.

"Apologize to her," he commanded. "Now."

I looked at Emily, who was peeking at me from the safety of David's arms, her tears miraculously gone, replaced by a triumphant smirk.

I smiled back, a slow, cold smile that didn't reach my eyes.

"Go to hell, Emily," I said, my voice clear and steady.

Her face fell. She hadn't expected that. She lunged at me, her nails out, and slapped me hard across the face. The sound echoed in the silent room.

I didn't even blink. The sting on my cheek was nothing compared to the pain in my soul. It was the last time she would ever touch me. The last time he would ever choose her over me.