Chapter 2

The front door slams. The house goes dead quiet.

Annie's journal is sitting open on the coffee table, turned to the newest page. Her handwriting fills every line.

Nora, I did the math. From our wedding night to today, he's used "Dean" to lie to you 587 times. That's almost once every two days.

Lie 1: Wedding night. Smashed the photo. He was seeing how much you would tolerate.

Lie 12: First night he didn't come home. Excuse: "Dean forced me to go to Chloe."

Lie 34: Forgot your birthday. Bought Chloe a cake instead. Said Dean bought it.

......

Lie 489: You were in the hospital after your miscarriage. He was at Chloe's birthday party.

And at the bottom, in thick black marker:

Nora. How much longer are you going to do this to yourself?

The journal burns in my hands. I drop it.

Bending to pick it up, I notice the laundry hamper next to the sofa. Adrian's shirt is on top. There's a smudge inside the collar.

Lipstick. Chloe's exact shade.

I drop the shirt in cold water. The lipstick bleeds out into pink threads. Cat hair floats to the surface.

Last week, on my birthday, Adrian gave me a necklace. He was wearing this same shirt that day.

He'd left that morning saying, "Nora, Chloe's cat needs shots, gotta take her to the vet. I'll be back early. Promise."

I'd hesitated. "Aren't you allergic to cats?"

I'd wanted one once, but he wouldn't let me. Said his allergies were severe, and that cats were dirty animals anyway.

"I'm allergic. Dean isn't." His eyes flickered with annoyance.

"Dean loves cats. Stop bringing this up. If Dean gets pissed and lays a hand on you, don't blame me."

He kissed my forehead and walked out.

He didn't come back until late that night. Slipped a velvet box out of his pocket.

"Happy birthday, Nora. Dean wouldn't let me leave for hours. Took every ounce of willpower to get back to you."

His eyes softened. "I spent forever picking this out."

A delicate silver chain with a tiny pendant. I almost cried.

The next morning, Annie had written in the journal:

Nora. The necklace he gave you is the exact same one Chloe was wearing last week.

I pulled the purchase record. He only bought one necklace.

Chloe posted on her Instagram: "The one my guy got me is so ugly. I'd rather have the cash."

She threw it back at him. So he re-wrapped it and gave it to you.

I didn't believe it. Not until I opened Chloe's Instagram.

There she was, throwing up a heart at the camera. That same necklace sitting on her collarbone.

The caption:

Straight men have zero taste. There's just no saving them.

I buried the necklace in the back of a drawer. Never wore it again.

The memory fades, and I find myself staring at Annie's journal again.

Annie's handwriting is still there on the page.

My hands are shaking, my head is pounding, and my legs finally give out.

The last thing I feel is the tile against my cheek.