Chapter 1

My best friend Yetta's husband was a firm believer in going Dutch in marriage.

Even for condoms.

When she spiked a fever in the middle of the night and had to rush to the ER, he made her Venmo him half the Uber fare after she got home.

I told her to divorce him. She just gave me this loaded smile and said, "You wouldn't understand."

And she was right—I didn't understand. Because with my husband Paul, all I had to do was glance at something twice and he'd buy it for me.

That's why, three years into our marriage, I was still perfectly happy squeezing into a run-down apartment with him while he built his startup.

Until I got an anonymous text:

*Want to know why she won't get divorced? Come to East Hampton.*

By the time I got there, Yetta was standing in front of a beach house with a Porsche parked behind her.

A man had his arm around her waist. "Don't forget to send me twenty bucks for parking."

I got a good look at his face. It was Paul—the same Paul who, just the night before, had promised to buy me a house.

My phone buzzed again. The anonymous number sent me a screenshot of a group chat.

Everyone in it was a mutual friend.

The most recent message was Yetta transferring money to Paul, with the note: *For raising Elvira.*

*Spent $320 on her gift this month. Sending you $160.*

*Did she like the necklace?*

*Cried her eyes out. She's a girl from nowhere—cheap stuff is more than enough to keep her happy.*

I reached up and touched the necklace at my throat, and suddenly I started laughing.

So when Yetta said, "You wouldn't understand," she'd been laughing at me for not getting the *fun* of their little going-Dutch arrangement.

And me—I was just the pet they both chipped in to keep.

Back home, I laid the necklace on top of the divorce papers.

Then I booked a red-eye flight.

...

Forty minutes to boarding.

Paul's call came through.

"Elvira, what's this divorce agreement about?"

I gripped my boarding pass. "The house in East Hampton. The Porsche. You kissing Yetta. What are those about?"

Silence on the other end for a few seconds.

"You went to East Hampton? Who told you?"

"Does it matter?"

He didn't answer. His voice just turned cold.

"Yetta didn't want you overthinking things, so she made up a husband who was always traveling for work."

"She's just been living with me on the side. The name on the marriage certificate has always been yours."

I laughed—furious. "So I'm supposed to *thank* you?"

"You already have the title of Mrs. Adam. She's been with me through years of building the company. What's wrong with giving her a house and a car?"

"You get the glamorous wife status, she gets the material compensation. One share each. Perfectly fair."

My chest felt tight.

So Paul's whole going-Dutch thing wasn't just about splitting parking fees—he'd split love and marriage into two separate accounts, too.

I asked quietly, "Then what am I?"

"I make you breakfast every morning. I bring you flowers. When have I ever done you wrong?"

I pressed him. "What about the cake yesterday?"

Paul paused.

"Yetta thought it was too sweet. It would've been a waste to throw it out. But you enjoyed it too, didn't you?"

I thought about how ridiculous I'd been the day before.

Posing with that cake, posting it on Instagram, telling the whole world—*three years in, and Paul still remembers I love strawberry.*

Friends had flooded the comments with hearts and envy.

They'd all known it was Yetta's rejected leftovers, and they'd stood by and watched me bask in a love that didn't exist.

The gate started boarding. I hung up.

I opened Yetta's Instagram from a burner account and scrolled all the way back to three years ago.

That's when I realized: every single "business trip" Paul had taken lined up perfectly with somewhere she'd been.

The night I was hospitalized with a fever, he told me a project was falling apart.

In the photo, he was celebrating Yetta's birthday at the beach, friends raising glasses around them.

The last picture in her album was from the day of our wedding.

I was in the front hall toasting guests. Paul was in the back room, kissing Yetta in her white dress.

His friends stood off to the side, laughing as they took the picture.

The caption read:

*Married the wrong girl, but true love never changes.*

The airport announcement started calling passengers to board.

Paul called again. I didn't pick up.

He sent two iMessages.

*Come home once you've cooled off.*

*Yetta needs a few household things for her new place. Pick them up for her on your way back.*

I turned off my phone and handed my boarding pass to the gate agent.