Abigail King's POV:
Chloe peeked cautiously into the living room, her eyes darting quickly between Dane and me.
"I… can I come in, Dane? Abigail's still upset," Chloe whimpered.
Dane didn't even glance at me. He looked directly at Chloe, his expression gentle and reassuring. "Ignore Abigail," he said softly. "Come in. You don't need her permission." He gestured for her to enter.
Our friends watched the whole scene, looking at me with pity in their eyes. Their silent sympathy burned my skin like fire. I didn't need their pity. I just wanted to disappear.
A strange calm settled over me. Without a word, I turned and walked toward the bedroom. I pulled a suitcase down from the top of the closet. I was leaving.
Chloe suddenly rushed over. She grabbed my wrist — her grip surprisingly strong. "Abigail, please, don't do this," she cried, tears streaming down her face again. "Remember our friendship? All those years together? Please, don't throw it all away."
Memories flashed through my mind. Chloe and I growing up next door to each other. Her parents going through a messy divorce when we were teenagers.
My mother had taken Chloe in. She'd slept over at our house more than her own. We shared clothes, food, and secrets. Chloe swore she'd always be my best friend. She said I was the only one who truly understood her. I believed her.
I helped her with homework, tutored her in math, even helped her with college applications. We dreamed of going to the same university together. We were inseparable. We were each other's whole world.
Until Caleb came along.
Her betrayal had made me cry for days. I called her, but she'd already blocked my number. She was gone — my best friend, all of it, gone in one cruel moment.
And now Chloe stood before me, tears on her cheeks, talking about friendship. It was a joke. Those memories, those years — they'd meant nothing to her. And now they meant nothing to me either.
I wrenched my hand away. "Stop pretending, Chloe," I hissed. "Don't act like you care about our friendship. You destroyed it."
Chloe gasped. She stumbled backward and fell to the floor with a cry.
Dane, who'd been watching with a face like a thundercloud, rushed to her side. He knelt down to check on her, then turned and glared at me with fury.
"Abigail! That's enough! Are you happy now? You pushed her!" he roared. "Apologize to her. Right now!"
I stood frozen, staring at him. My husband — who had just comforted the woman who betrayed me — was now demanding I apologize for "pushing" her, even though she'd fallen on purpose. He was demanding I apologize to the woman who'd ruined my youth.
Chloe was still on the floor, looking up at Dane, then at me. Her expression was pitiful. "No, Dane, it's okay. Abigail's just upset. I understand. It's my fault." Her words were poison, deliberately stoking Dane's anger, making me look like the unreasonable aggressor.
I turned back to the bedroom and quickly stuffed clothes and essentials into my suitcase. When I came out again, only Dane and Chloe remained in the living room — our friends had wisely left.
Chloe sat on the couch, her eyes still red-rimmed, but a smug smile played at the corner of her mouth. Dane knelt before her, gently applying ointment to her knee. He stroked her hair, his eyes full of tender concern. He looked like a knight tending to his princess.
"Don't worry, Chloe," he murmured, his voice soft and firm. "I'm here. No one will ever hurt you again. I promise."
Chloe let out a light, triumphant little laugh. She nodded and leaned into his palm.
I dragged my suitcase toward the door. The wheels rumbled across the hardwood floor.
"Abigail, where do you think you're going?" His voice was cold, dismissive. "Stop this. It's childish. Come back."
I didn't look at him. My eyes were fixed on the door. My voice was calm and steady. "Dane, I want a divorce."
