through the phone, smooth and full of the easy charm that had first dr

nt spread across my desk. "I saw, Ethan. It sounds exciting." My own project, a min

r is showcasing some incredible Renaissance revival pieces. It' s given me so much inspira

"Chloe? The one you

een spending late nights in the archives, bouncing i

was an art history professor, a man who lived and breathed his work. Th

an good, Ava.

to use for me, back when he' d watch me sketch for hours, claimin

their cold precision. My life with Ethan was supposed to be just as well-designed, a

that sometimes clung to his clothes, a scent too sweet and floral to be from the dusty old books he claimed to be s

aised her sharp insights, her fearless critiques, her dedication. He made it sound like they were par

had designed to be our sanctuary, suddenly felt suffocating. I saw his laptop sitting on the ni

o it. An email draft was open on the screen, addressed to a university

en. "It must be experienced, felt. My collaboration with Ms. Davis has been a revelation,

plied. I scrolled down, my heart pounding. He had attach

ng in a cafe, a cup of coffee in her hand. And then, the last one. A picture taken in what was unmistakably our bedroom. Chloe was lying on our bed, wearing one of my si

ightmarish blur. I saw the robe, my favorite one, a gift from him on our anniversary, drape

sea rolled over me. I felt cold, a deep, bone-aching chill that had nothing to do with the tempe

or open. "Ava? I'm home!" Ethan

n the hall, coming closer. He appeared in the door

miling his perfect, charming smile. "To celebrate my new chapter. Ch

e a mask of loving concern.

. The hypocrisy was so staggering it was almost surreal. The man holding a peace offering was

rve him. He put the flowers down

s a stranger's, low and empty. "I'm

and lies. In that moment, I knew my marriage was over. He hadn't just broken a vow. He had shattered