Chapter 2

Alyssa POV:

The phone rang an hour later, a shrill, unwelcome noise in the suffocating silence of my truck. The screen lit up with a familiar number: Northwood Pediatric Specialists, Billing Department.

For years, a call like this would have sent a spike of pure panic through my veins. It would have meant another frantic negotiation, another round of begging for an extension, my voice cracking with desperation as I promised a payment I couldn't afford.

This time, I felt nothing. A vast, cold emptiness had settled where the fear and hope used to live.

I answered the call, my voice surprisingly steady. "This is Alyssa."

"Alyssa Smith?" The woman on the other end was brisk, her tone already weary. "I'm calling about Joshua Casey's outstanding balance for his preliminary treatment protocol. We're showing a past due amount of five thousand dollars."

I leaned my head back against the cracked leather of the seat. I remembered the last time she called. I had been on my hands and knees, scrubbing a bloodstain from a hardwood floor, and I had wept while pleading with her for just two more weeks. She had sighed and granted it, but not without a lecture on fiscal responsibility.

"Yes, I remember," I said, my voice flat.

Her tone sharpened slightly, caught off guard by my lack of emotion. "Well, the extension is up. We need payment immediately, or we'll have to suspend Joshua's access to the program."

Suspend his access. The threat that had been my personal nightmare for half a decade. I used to wake up in a cold sweat dreaming about it. Now, the words were meaningless.

What program was there to suspend? A program of sugar pills and saline drips? A program designed not to heal him, but to test me?

"Why are you calling me for this?" I asked, a real question. "My understanding was that this was the final amount due before the primary treatment began. The one I've been saving for."

The lie tasted like ash in my mouth.

"Yes, but this is for services already rendered," she said impatiently. "Mr. Smith-your husband-usually handles these calls, but we haven't been able to reach him."

Mr. Smith. Brad. Bradford Yates. A man so wealthy he probably used hundred-dollar bills as kindling, and he had left me to beg and scrape for a measly five thousand dollars. It wasn't because he couldn't pay it. It was part of the test. To see how far I would go. To see if I would break.

I was done breaking.

"You can send the bill to him," I said calmly. "I will no longer be handling Joshua's financial matters."

There was a stunned silence on the other end. "Ma'am? I don't understand. You've always-"

"I am aware of what I have always done," I interrupted, the coldness in my voice surprising even myself. "Things have changed. Send the bill to Brad Smith. Or better yet, send it to Bradford Yates."

I hung up before she could respond, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat.

Just as I did, a sleek, black SUV pulled into the parking spot next to my rust-bucket truck. Brad-Bradford-got out. He looked impeccable in a tailored suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. When he saw me, a flicker of surprise crossed his handsome face, quickly replaced by a warm, concerned smile. The same smile that had fooled me for seven years.

"Alyssa! Honey, what are you still doing here? I was about to call you. I thought you were working late."

He moved to open my door, his movements fluid and charming. The perfect, doting partner.

"The job finished early," I said, my voice devoid of any warmth. I didn't move to get out.

He frowned, his brow furrowing in that way I used to find so endearing. "Are you okay? You look pale." He reached for my hand.

I pulled it away before his fingers could touch me.

His frown deepened. A flash of something-annoyance?-crossed his features before being masked again by concern. "Tough day?"

"You could say that."

I finally pushed the truck door open and slid out, standing to face him. He was taller than me, his presence usually a comfort. Now it felt like a threat.

"I was going to come get you," he said, his voice soft. "You shouldn't have to drive all this way after a long shift. We can go see Joshua together."

Next time. He thought there would be a next time. He thought I'd just fall back into line, the loving, exhausted woman who lived for him and our son. The woman who would do anything for them.

That woman died an hour ago in a hospital hallway.

The smell of bleach on my clothes felt stronger now, a stark contrast to the expensive, clean scent of his cologne. For years, I had scrubbed and saved and sacrificed, believing I was fighting for my son' s life. I wasn't. I was auditioning for a role I never even knew I was up for.

And I had just been told, in no uncertain terms, that I didn't get the part.

"No," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "I don't think I'll be seeing Joshua again."

His smile faltered completely. "What are you talking about, Alyssa? Don't be dramatic. You're just tired."

Tired. Yes, I was tired. I was tired in my bones, in my soul. Tired of the lies. Tired of the test. Tired of him.

"I am tired," I agreed. "So tired of all of this."

I looked past him, toward the gleaming glass doors of the hospital. Inside that building, my best friend was playing mother to my son, and the man I loved was playing God with my life. A bitter, burning anger began to thaw the ice in my veins.

He reached for me again, his expression a perfect mask of loving worry. "Come on, let's go inside. Jaime made cookies. Joshua is asking for you."

The lie was so effortless, so practiced. It made me sick.

---