“You make me sick,” I spit out, the words quivering with the rage I had swallowed for far too long.
Cold water streamed down Alyssa’s salon-styled curls and dripped onto her expensive blouse, each droplet a truth I had never dared to say aloud until now.
She shrieked like I’d hurled acid instead of water. She stumbled backward, hands flapping dramatically. “Tristan!” she wailed, voice already cracking into her trademark fake sobs. “Tristan, help me!”
Heavy footsteps thundered toward us. Tristan burst into the kitchen, his gaze bouncing from Alyssa—soaked and whimpering—to the pitcher clenched in my hand.
“What the hell is going on?” he barked.
“I don’t know!” Alyssa cried, wiping at her face as if she were melting. “I was just minding my business, humming a song from last night’s concert, and she—she threw water on me! Maybe she’s upset because that kiss cam clip is everywhere now?”
Tristan’s expression hardened as he stared at me. “Is this about that silly video?”
I stood silent, the disbelief twisting in my chest. They were actually mocking me with it.
“Oh, please, Celine,” Tristan scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “It was a harmless kiss cam. People play along all the time. You can’t be this dramatic.”
“Dramatic?” I ground out. “You had your arm around her like she belonged to you.”
Alyssa’s face twisted. “Don’t exaggerate! The camera just caught us at the wrong moment. We were enjoying the music. Why do you always assume the worst of me? You know I’d never betray you like that.”
Tristan chimed in instantly. “And besides, we didn’t kiss. We backed away.”
“You backed away because you were caught,” I snapped. “If no one had pointed a camera at you, your arm would’ve stayed right where it was—around her. Don’t pretend it meant nothing. My whole marriage has been made of ‘nothings’ you never let me question.”
Tristan sighed like I was exhausting him. “You’re spiraling again. You always twist things until they sound like your paranoia is real. That’s why we don’t tell you anything—because you overreact.”
“I’m overreacting?” I whispered, barely believing this was my life.
At that moment, Noah walked in, his tablet tucked under one arm. “What’s all the noise?”
Before I could speak, Alyssa swooped in with syrupy sweetness. “Your mom’s just upset about the concert. She misunderstood.”
Noah turned to me with a mocking grin. “Seriously, Mom? Throwing a fit because you weren’t invited? We were there to celebrate a successful deal. Why would you go when you didn’t do anything to help?” He tossed a pile of laundry at me like I was hired help. “Anyway, enough of this. Wash these. And if you ever skip one of Tina’s school events again, don’t bother coming home.”
Tina toddled in behind him, frowning up at me. “I don’t want you. I want Aunt Alyssa.”
She ran to Alyssa and clung to her leg.
Alyssa smoothed the girl’s hair and shot me a smug smile. “Sweetheart, she’s your grandma. Don’t talk like that.”
“But she hurt you!” Tina glared daggers at me. “She threw water at your face! Bad people do that!”
I felt nothing. No anger. No tears. Just emptiness.
This was the moment I finally understood:
They had erased me completely—from my own home, my own blood, my own life.
And none of them cared.
I didn’t argue. I didn’t explode. I simply turned away.
I walked down the hallway, entered my bedroom, and quietly locked the door behind me. My chest rose and fell rapidly, my fingers shaking uncontrollably.
I reached into the closet and pulled out my suitcase.
There was nothing left to stay for.
I took down framed photos one by one. Packed clothes I once wore trying to win Tristan’s attention. The sketches I hid in drawers, tiny scraps of the artist I once was.
Everything went into the suitcase—or the trash.
I was done holding onto dead things.
When I opened the bottom drawer, I found the anniversary present I had bought years ago—still wrapped with gold ribbon, never opened, never appreciated. I held it for a moment, then tossed it into the wastebasket.
As I zipped the suitcase shut, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I picked it up, expecting my lawyer.
But the caller ID made my breath hitch.
Treston Marquez.
Tristan’s former rival. A man I hadn’t spoken to in years.
I hesitated, then swiped to answer.
“Mrs. Hale,” he said, his voice smooth, amused. “I saw the news. Looks like your husband finally exposed himself to the world. Or should I say… ex-husband?”
I closed my eyes. “What do you want, Treston?”
He gave a soft laugh. I could hear the smirk in it. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time. So tell me—how do you feel about marrying me instead?”
