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Chapter 2

Author: WeeWoo
After his name appeared, the viewer count started climbing fast.

Someone shared the livestream to a local gossip account. Someone took screenshots. Someone kept warning me not to say any addresses.

[The Moretti Shipping guy?]

[My dad used to work for them. Vivan, find somewhere safe first.]

[Over eighteen hundred photos? How long has this been going on?]

[She said cancer. Can you people care about that first!]

I looked at the comments and suddenly felt a little regret.

Not regret saying his name.

It was that I'd thought if someone heard me, I wouldn't feel so alone.

But the people on the other end of the screen—some were worried about me, some were just waiting for the next act.

I took a sip of water.

"A went to ask her husband who the woman was."

"She thought, at least he would explain."

I stopped until my breathing steadied.

"He said, 'Old stuff. Forget it.'"

Saying it out loud hurt more than hearing it the first time.

"Then he deleted the album, as if that could make her forget too."

The phone on my knee suddenly buzzed.

Damian.

The moment the screen lit up, my back straightened involuntarily.

I hated that reaction.

He wasn't even here, hadn't said a word, and I was already afraid of upsetting him.

I declined the call.

A few seconds later, he called again.

This time, I silenced it and turned the screen face-down on the stone ledge.

For three years, I had answered every single call he made.

In the hospital. In the bathroom. On the anniversary of my mother's death.

It turned out not answering only took one press of a button.

Then Matteo's number lit up.

Damian's most trusted advisor.

The man who, on our wedding day, had placed my hand in Damian's and told me, "We'll take care of you from now on."

I answered and put it on speaker.

"Vivan."

His voice was low. There were people talking in the background.

"Listen to me. Shut down the livestream first. PR is already handling it."

"Handling what?"

"Don't drag this outside. Whatever grievances you have, come back and we'll talk."

I looked at the headstone in the dusk.

"After I come back, will I be allowed to leave again?"

The other end went quiet for a moment.

"Don't say that. You're Damian's wife."

"So I should keep my mouth shut?"

"You know that's not what I mean."

I didn't respond to that.

"Matteo. That woman. You've known all along, haven't you?"

Only faint breathing came through the phone.

That was enough.

I looked down at my wedding ring.

So all those times I wore it, sat among those men, hosted their guests like a real family member—they all knew.

"What's her name?"

"Vivan—"

"I'm not even worthy of knowing her name?"

Matteo sighed.

"Chloe. Chloe Bell. Her father's situation—you don't understand. Damian has a responsibility to her."

Responsibility.

I repeated the word in my mind.

"What kind of responsibility requires hiding photos of her in his shirt?"

"It's not as simple as you think."

"Then explain it."

He didn't.

After a brief crackle, another voice came through the phone.

"Vivan."

Damian.

Just two syllables, and my fingers had already clenched around my skirt.

"Tell me where you are."
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  • 1,826 Private Photos. All Her. None of Me.   Chapter 32

    With his thumb, he touched the diamond held against his ring finger.Then he pressed play.Wind sounded from the tiny speaker.A different night.The same trees.“Good evening. I’m Vivian.”He lowered his head.“I want to tell you a story.”He knew every pause.The moment she waited for the pain to pass.The slight change in her voice when she said the number of photographs.He knew when she would wipe her face.When she would look away.The recording held things he had not noticed while she was alive.It could show him those things.It could not let him answer differently.From the bench, he could see the white roses beneath the oak.He did not stand.He had once believed every door would open if he wanted it badly enough.A guard would move.A lawyer would withdraw.A wife would come home.Now the cemetery gate stood open behind him, and there was still a place he could not enter.Three steps from a headstone.Ten paces from a bench.The distance was small enough to cross in seconds.

  • 1,826 Private Photos. All Her. None of Me.   Chapter 31

    Evelyn’s eyes dropped to his hand.The diamond rested against his finger, held there by the tight loops of chain.It was not a ring he could properly wear.He did not try to explain it.“Keep my name out of it,” he said.The documents lay between them.“Don’t put it on her trust.”Evelyn closed the file.He took his coat from the back of the chair, gave a small, courteous nod, and left alone.Outside, Manhattan was still cold.***Three years later, winter came early.In a newly restored gallery at the Met, an exhibition celebrated young women working in painting conservation.The Vivian Hayes Trust had sponsored it.In the quietest corner, several restored nineteenth-century coastal landscapes stood inside a glass case.Beside them lay an open charcoal sketchbook.Rain slanted past Roman columns.A black umbrella stood on the steps.There was no one beneath it.A man in a black coat watched from the other side of the glass.He was thirty-nine.Gray had spread at his temples.His shoul

  • 1,826 Private Photos. All Her. None of Me.   Chapter 30

    Damian searched the album.The cloud backup.Their messages.He opened every folder he could find.The phone that had held 1,826 photographs of Lina contained a few official images from charity dinners.Vivian beside him.Her hand on his arm.The correct smile for the cameras.Not one private photograph.On their first anniversary, she had lifted her phone and asked for a picture together.He had put a hand in front of the lens.“Don’t waste time on this.”He remembered her lowering it.At the time, he had not thought to look at her face.Now he sat on the bathroom floor, holding half a box of stomach medicine.There was nothing on the screen he could enlarge into the memory he wanted.***After that night, the executives at Moretti Shipping noticed the change.Damian hired data-recovery specialists.He paid them to search the company servers, old security drives, and social media archives for anything showing Vivian.They worked for a week.Most of what they found was news footage fro

  • 1,826 Private Photos. All Her. None of Me.   Chapter 29

    Fine snow began falling again.Damian followed the stone path toward the oak.Three months earlier, he had crossed it quickly, angry that his wife had made him come.He had ordered her to turn off the livestream.To stand.To go home.Now he walked slowly enough to see where each stone met the next.The black headstone stood in the fading light.The space beneath Vivian’s birth date was no longer blank.January third.White roses covered the ground before it.Three steps away, his knees struck the gravel.He did not reach for the flowers.From the inside pocket of his jacket, he took the diamond ring.The one she had left on the cemetery ground.He held it against his forehead, then against his chest.His body folded forward into the snow.Only then did a sound escape him.Low and broken.There was no one left beneath the oak to hear it.***Three days after the funeral, Damian returned to the penthouse above Central Park.For three months, he had slept in cars or hotel rooms near the

  • 1,826 Private Photos. All Her. None of Me.   Chapter 28

    Fever and days without food had hollowed his face.His beard was uneven.He kept his eyes on the white coffin beyond the iron bars.It was being lowered beneath the oak.Matteo’s former deputy approached with an umbrella.“Sir, you’re still ill.”Damian did not look at him.“We could speak to Ms. Kraus. Ask her to let you pay your respects.”The deputy hesitated.“Just for the last few minutes.”“No one moves.”His voice was barely recognizable.The deputy stepped back.Wind drove loose snow against Damian’s face.He stayed in the mud and watched the young women lower their roses into Vivian’s grave.Three months earlier, he had pinned her wrist against their bed.“The only thing that ends a Moretti marriage is a funeral.”The funeral had come.He was not allowed to stand with the mourners.***The minister closed his Bible.The guests left slowly, some crying.The museum’s retired director touched Evelyn’s shoulder before returning to his car.Half an hour later, she walked toward the

  • 1,826 Private Photos. All Her. None of Me.   Chapter 27

    Then came the church.I was twenty-four again, walking toward the altar in white.Colored light from the stained-glass windows lay across the red carpet.I remembered believing that a promise spoken there would mean the same thing to both of us.Other evenings followed.Dinner cooling in the penthouse.A chair left empty.The sound of a door that opened long after I stopped expecting it.And then the cemetery.The phone propped against the stone.Hundreds of thousands of strangers, some only watching, some asking whether anyone was with me.Someone had written that people should care about the woman with cancer first.I remembered those words more clearly than I expected.Leaving the marriage had seemed impossible.Leaving this body had frightened me too.Now neither felt like something I needed to fight.I had my name.The shelter was safe.The paintings would go where children could look at them.Evelyn knew where I wanted to be buried.There was nothing I needed to explain to Damian

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