At two in the morning, you woke to cold sheets and the sound of your husband’s voice slipping under the bedroom door like smoke. For a few seconds, you thought it was a dream, the kind that leaves your heart racing before you even know why. Then you heard him clearly from the study down the hall, low and amused, talking to someone on speakerphone. “She has no idea. She’s stupid. She always was.”
You sat up so fast the room tilted. The digital clock glowed 2:03 a.m. in ugly red numbers, and beside you, the place where Ramiro should have been was empty and cool, as if he had been gone a while. That frightened you more than the words. It meant the betrayal had already been awake before you were.
Continue on the next page:
