Chapter 3

I waited until the moon climbed into the sky before I pulled myself together and pushed open that door.

Inside, everything had reverted to the version I knew. Cold. Distant.

The lively Owen had slipped back into his role as the autistic child—sitting quietly to one side, flipping through a picture book, ignoring me completely.

The tender Grant stepped out of his study, saw me, gave a curt nod, and brushed past without a word.

I stood in the entryway, a sharp flicker of irony in my eyes.

Normally, I wouldn't have thought twice about it. But now that I'd seen with my own eyes what these two looked like when they actually cared about someone, I couldn't bear it for one second longer.

"Did Lily come by today? For the birthday?"

Grant's hand paused mid-pour.

"She did."

"But she saw you weren't home. Stayed for a bit and then left."

Whether out of guilt or reflex, he changed the subject fast and handed me my birthday gift.

"Noticed you were almost out of perfume."

It sat heavy in my hand. I gave a flat, empty laugh. "Thanks."

I walked right past him without asking Owen if he'd had a nice day.

Grant's brow creased.

I knew why. I'd never been cold to him before. I was always the one bending over backward to keep both of them happy.

But I was wide awake now.

That night, before bed, Owen stood in the doorway. This was the time I'd always go read him a story.

He saw me coming down the hall and said, stone-faced, "Mommy, I don't need you to—"

But before he could finish, he realized I'd walked right past without so much as a glance.

He blinked, startled.

I spared him one indifferent look, then shut my bedroom door with a bang.

Grant came in shortly after, eyeing me up and down. "Rough trip?"

"No."

He stood at the edge of the bed, watching me for three full seconds, a trace of displeasure on his face.

"Then don't take it out on a kid."

My hand paused over the visa paperwork I was filling out. A flash of contempt crossed my eyes, but I didn't argue. There was no point.

He lay down beside me, and before long his breathing turned slow and even.

His phone lit up on the nightstand.

I didn't want to look, but my eyes caught the familiar profile picture before I could stop myself.

I picked it up and unlocked the screen. It was Lily.

"Grant, thanks for the thing."

I didn't understand—what thing? But I didn't dig deeper. Almost without thinking, I scrolled up through the conversation.

Nothing improper. Both of them perfectly polite.

And yet, Grant had been texting her almost every day. What he'd had for lunch. What flowers he'd spotted on the way home. Lily shared little stories from work in return, almost daily.

I thought of myself. How long had it been since he'd shared anything like that with me—his wife?

So long that even I could barely remember.

Whenever I tried sharing something with him, he wouldn't even reply. He'd just frown and tell me to grow up.

My gaze drifted for a moment. Then I placed the phone back exactly as it had been, and closed my eyes.

The next morning, I was uploading footage to the station as usual when I realized my camera's memory card was missing.

My heart lurched.

This story was the station's highest-priority package right now. The photos were ones I'd shot on my trip, during which I'd nearly been swallowed by a mudslide.

And now the card was gone.

The blood drained from my face, and just then, the managing editor called.

"Summer! What the hell is going on?"

"I told you we needed to break this as an exclusive, and the other network just ran the whole story!"

The air left my lungs.

"That's impossible!"

I'd been the only reporter on the scene. There was no one else.

But at that exact moment, the TV—already on—was running the story as its lead segment on the morning news. The photographs were mine. The ones I'd lost.

And beneath them, the credited reporter was: Lily.

My pupils contracted.

"Thanks for the thing." The message from last night roared back into my mind.

I looked at Grant, who had just gotten out of bed. My voice shook.

"Did you do this?"

He didn't deny it.

My heart plummeted to the floor.

"Why?"

"Do you have any idea what I went through for that story?"

I nearly died for it.

But faced with my choked, trembling accusations, he just looked at me with that same detached expression.

"She's your sister. Would it kill you to let her have this one?"

Owen appeared too, falling in line behind his father, taking someone else's side.

"Mommy, just let Auntie Lily have it."

My eyes darted between them in disbelief. Then a sharp, self-mocking laugh tore out of me.

"Fine. I'll let her have it. I'll let her have everything."

Including the two of you.