Chapter 1

Today was my third wedding anniversary with Ryan.

I'd had my eye on this restaurant for three months. It was also where we'd had our first date. The reservations were notoriously hard to get—peak season meant booking two months out. I'd called four times before I managed to snag a window table on this exact date.

The gift was ready too.

A watch. I'd spent a long time at the boutique before settling on a model Ryan had mentioned once, in passing.

I wasn't sure he even remembered saying it. But I did. We'd been walking past a shop window; he'd stopped, looked for maybe ten seconds, said "That's nice," and we'd kept walking.

That was six months ago.

The box was in a navy blue gift bag, tucked beside my chair. I'd give it to him once he arrived. I wanted to see his face when he opened it.

He showed up on time, sat across from me, glanced around the restaurant, and said: "This place must've been hard to book."

"It wasn't bad," I said.

I stole a look at the navy bag, thinking I'd find a natural moment to bring it out.

I'd barely started—"I have something I wanted to—"

His phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, and his entire body went still for a beat.

Then his mouth curved upward, his eyes lit up: "Chloe! Is that you?"

My hand, holding the gift box, faltered.

He listened for a few seconds and stood straight up—from the chair he'd occupied for less than two minutes. "No problem, I'm coming right now."

He hung up, barely containing his excitement. "Sorry, babe—Chloe's back. My sister, you know—she's been overseas for six years. She just called and said she flew in out of nowhere. She's at the airport right now."

"I have to go pick her up," he said. "You understand, right?" He leaned down, kissed my temple, patted my shoulder. "Go ahead and eat, don't wait for me. I'll make it up to you."

Then he left.

A sycamore leaf drifted down outside the door, clung to the glass for a moment, and slowly slid away.

I picked up the navy bag from beside my chair, set it on my lap, and sighed.

I finished both portions of the dinner I'd reserved for two.

The table next to mine turned over twice. Someone glanced my way a few times. I didn't care.

I forgot to mention—we'd set our anniversary on Valentine's Day.

The restaurant, as far as the eye could see, was wall-to-wall couples. I was the only person sitting alone, working through two entrées.

He came home around midnight, changing quietly in the dark, then carefully lying down beside me.

What I didn't know was that everything began to change that night.

My life. My marriage. My husband.