Chapter 2
I stared at the photo until my eyes burned.
Daniel’s hand was curled around the woman’s waist, his smile the same soft, lazy one he’d given me at dinner the night before.
The diamond on her neck glinted, bright and perfect, nothing like the fogged fake in my hand.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
“Who are you?” I typed, hit send before I could think better of it.
Three dots popped up immediately, then vanished.
Then nothing.
I sank onto the kitchen floor, the cold tile seeping through my sweatpants, and let myself cry for exactly two minutes.
Then I wiped my face, stood up, and got to work.
I called the SoHo jewelry store first, my voice steady as I pretended to be Daniel’s executive assistant, confirming the pickup details for his recent order.
The clerk was chipper, no suspicion at all.
“Of course, Ms. Carter,” she said. “Mr. Carter picked up the 2-carat solitaire necklace two days before your anniversary, along with the silver-plated replica he ordered for… uh, a gift for his sister, he said.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who picked up the real one?” I said.
“His fiancée, Lila Marlow,” she said. “She showed her ID, everything was in order. Such a sweet girl. They’re getting married next spring, he told us.”
Fiancée.
Next spring.
I hung up without saying goodbye, my hands shaking so hard I almost dropped the phone.
I typed Lila Marlow into Instagram, my thumb hovering over the search bar.
Her profile popped up first.
Public.
28 years old.
Realtor in Brooklyn.
Her grid was full of photos of her and Daniel.
Him at her birthday party, holding a cake.
Them on a beach in Aruba last month—the same “work conference” he’d left me and the kids for.
A photo from eight months ago, her holding up a diamond ring, the caption: He asked. I said yes. Forever with my person.
I ran to the bathroom and threw up, my stomach heaving until there was nothing left.
Ten years.
Two kids.
A house we’d spent five years renovating together.
And he’d been engaged to another woman for almost a year.
My phone pinged again.
Same unknown number.
“I’m Clara,” the text said.
“Lila’s older sister.”
I froze.
“The woman on the subway,” I typed back.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Three dots.
Then a photo popped up.
A younger Clara, maybe 16, standing next to a woman with her same eyes, holding a foreclosure notice in front of a tiny house.
“My dad cheated on my mom,” the next text said.
“Sold her engagement ring, drained their savings, left us with nothing. We lost the house. Lila was 10. She never got over it.”
“I saw Daniel buy both necklaces three weeks ago,” she continued.
“Followed him to your anniversary dinner. Followed you onto the subway. I couldn’t let what happened to my mom happen to you.”
My throat tightened so bad I could barely breathe.
“Where is he now?” I typed.
“With Lila,” she said. “Telling her you’re the crazy ex who won’t let go. That you’ve been stalking him. She believes him. For now.”
Before I could reply, a loud, frantic knock banged against the front door.
I looked through the peephole.
Daniel.
His hair was a mess, his shirt unbuttoned, his eyes red and glassy.
He reeked of whiskey even through the door.
“Ellie,” he yelled, his voice slurred. “Open up. We need to talk. I can explain everything.”
He banged again, harder this time, the door rattling in its frame.
Down the street, a neighbor’s curtain twitched.
I backed away from the door, my heart slamming, and grabbed my phone to call the only person I knew would come running.
Mia.
My best friend since college.
The woman who’d held my hand through both kids’ births, who’d brought me soup when I had the flu, who’d never once liked Daniel, even when I did.
May you like
She picked up on the first ring.
“Get over here,” I said, my voice cracking. “Now.”
