Chapter 2

Back inside, Ethan went to shower in the guest bath.

When I came out of ours, I saw his phone on the bed, unlocked and face-up.

I wasn't going to look, but as I passed, I caught the preview of a new message from Luna. I stopped and opened his messages.

My conversation was pinned at the top, but he'd muted notifications from me.

Right below it was Luna's name, with a red heart beside it.

I gave a bitter smile.

Ethan, I'm such an idiot. I left my bras and panties in your suitcase.

Your wife isn't going to see them and freak out, is she?

I walked over to the suitcase in the corner and opened it. Half of it was filled with Luna's lace underwear and silk nightgowns.

I froze. It was one more reason to stop caring about him.

The phone buzzed again.

I'm pulling up outside your building. Come down when you see this.

I don't want your wife catching me and accusing me of ruining your marriage.

I locked the screen, walked onto the balcony, and looked down. Sure enough, the car was idling at the curb.

It was Ethan's car: the vintage Mercedes his late mother had left him. He never let me touch it and had told me it was in the shop after a fender bender.

Apparently, he'd given it to Luna instead.

The late-autumn wind off the Hudson cut right through me.

When Ethan walked in, he frowned at the open suitcase.

"Chloe. I don't appreciate people going through my things."

People.

I paused with the moisturizer in my hand and gave him a thin smile.

"Afraid I'd see what's inside?"

He snapped the suitcase shut and lowered his voice.

"Don't be childish. Luna had too much luggage. She's keeping some of it with me for now."

"Mm."

I didn't push. We both knew what was going on between them. Anyone could see it.

He checked his phone. His whole face softened when he saw her message.

He waited until after midnight to go down to her. After calling my name softly twice, he slipped out of bed and headed downstairs, apparently satisfied I was asleep.

I opened my eyes in the dark, pushed back the covers, and went to the window.

I saw him crossing the street. Luna ran into his arms and nestled against him, pouting about something.

He didn't push her away. He held her tightly.

A few minutes later, Luna posted on Instagram.

The one I love most — still willing to look at the stars with me, after all these years.

Below the caption was a photo of them in the car with the sunroof open, their heads tipped back.

I stared at it for a long moment.

Then I lay back down and scheduled an appointment with a divorce attorney for the day after the funeral.

None of us slept that night.

Ethan didn't come back upstairs until the sky was turning gray.

At seven, when I came out of the bedroom, he already had breakfast on the counter.

"I made everything you like. We'll go to the service together."

I looked at the food and spoke flatly.

"I'm allergic to shellfish. Luna's the one who likes shrimp dumplings. I never have."

He stopped pouring my coffee, apparently realizing his mistake.

While he fumbled for the right lie, I was already picking up my car keys and walking out the door.

Today was the funeral service, followed by the burial. The funeral director had made it clear we needed to be on time.

Ethan caught up to me and slid into the passenger seat. His phone rang.

"A car accident?"

His voice rose, and he went rigid.

"I'll be right there."

He hung up and turned to me.

"Luna's been in an accident. I have to go. The burial's at noon — I'll make it back, I swear."

I stared at the steering wheel and asked him one last time.

"Do you have to go?"

His lips pressed together. "Chloe. Don't put me in this position."

I let go of the steering wheel. I was done asking him to stay.

"Fine. Go."

He got out. I drove off without looking back.

But when I pulled up to the funeral home, I found an uninvited guest already waiting.