Chapter 6

After that fight, Donovan stopped hiding his affair entirely. He would disappear for days at a time, returning with lipstick on his collar and scratch marks down his back. Everyone around me parroted the same excuses: he was stressed, and men had needs. I had no family and no friends; my entire world revolved around him. Everyone envied Mrs. Mercer's life, but no one cared about my broken heart.

I had almost convinced myself that our marriage could outlast his fling with a young secretary. I was wrong. That Christmas Eve text had never been from Donovan. It was Chloe, sending it to taunt me, to break me. The twenty-year-old boy who had promised to die for me was gone. The thirty-year-old man he became was holding another woman while his wife and baby bled to death.

My vision faded to black, and then the heavy bass of the music suddenly cut short. Club security stepped into the booth, holding up my blood-stained coat.

"We found this outside," one of the guards said. "We need to check everyone's safety."

Drunk and hostile, the group shouted them down, with Blake waving a beer bottle in a rage.

Cold and dismissive, Donovan just waved a hand. "It's my wife's coat. She's mad I left her alone, so she's faking a crisis."

The guards backed down, too scared to cross him. The music started up again, loud and cheerful.

I closed my eyes as my last spark of hope was snuffed out. I was going to die in this bathroom, and no one would care enough to save me.