bed. I found a brief, careless text from him sent at 3 a.m. "Something came up with the guys. Had

he call button, a wave of shame washing over me. He had been my biggest champion, the one who saw a raw, powerful talent in me wh

He answered on the second ring, his

t really you? It

or Chen, it's me. I... I'm sorr

ten. I see your husband's name in the news sometime

t in years." I explained that I had put my sculpting aside for my marriage, for Liam. I didn't tel

. "Eleanor, your talent was a rare thing. A gift. To sacrifice that... for anyone... it's a profound loss. I was so s

n of the truth I had just begun to face. I had decorate

aining strength as I spoke them. "For the

mber. You'll need a new letter of recommendation. Send me

t paintings Liam had chosen. None of it was me. My taste was for warm woods, rich colors, and shelves overflowing with books and strange objects. This place was a reflection of Sarah, whose ow

any sketchbook, it was the one from my final year of college. It was filled with sketches of my early ideas, my rawest concepts, and-my cheeks burned with

s gone. I had a sickening feeling I knew where it was. A few months ago, Liam had

ersary, and the wife he had stood up, simply didn't exist. My heart, which should have b

there, in the center of the photo, was Liam. He wasn't with Tom or Alex. He was with Sarah Jenkins. Her arm was linked through his, her head tilted towards him

o see, was a final, brutal humiliation.

d charcoal, it was proof of who I used to be. It was the part o

. You have something o

instantly. "I'm busy,

e came through. But this one wasn't fr

don't you come pick it up? We can finally meet. Let's ha

ng, a confrontation. And Liam, my husband, had given her my sketchbook and my number. He had sicced his mistress on his

k a single