Chapter 1

They say that the deepest cuts come from the ones you hold closest to your heart. But I never expected my husband to be the one holding the knife while another woman twisted it in deeper. 

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? 

 _______

“Sorry, ma’am, I can’t find your boarding details,” the woman at the airport counter said.

“What?” I asked, blinking as the attendant handed back my passport. “My husband booked this flight—it’s our anniversary.”

The attendant peered at me sympathetically. “I’ve checked every spelling. There’s no Ariana Carter booked for any flight to Miami today or tomorrow.”

My voice trembled. “Are you sure? My husband even sent me the boarding pass last night. He said he’d meet me on the plane…” I fumbled through my phone, pulling up the ticket app. Flight 254 to Miami, two seats side-by-side—our first real vacation together in ages.

I’m Ariana Carter, married to Misha for three years. We’ve been passionate from the start, though lately he’s been distant—CEO duties at Carter Tech demand everything from him. I’ve put my career on hold to support him, to build a family, and now, three years later, we’re still in love… still hoping for that miracle.

“Wait…” I frowned, scrolling.

A man behind me groaned, waving his ticket. “Get outta line! We’re gonna miss the flight!”

Raising a hand to silence him, I quickly found the boarding pass and showed it to the attendant. “See? Flight 254, seat E3, first class.”

Her face softened, though her voice trembled. “I’m sorry, ma’am. That seat was transferred to Ms. Sanderson about two hours ago. She picked up her ticket earlier.”

I froze, zooming in on my phone. My reservation wasn’t in my name.

“Ticket transferred to Mavis Sanderson,” I whispered, my chest tightening. “Mavis… my husband’s secretary.”

The news hits me like a brick to the chest. “She booked the flight for us. I’m sure her name was just put down by mistake.” 

Mavis Sanderson. 

She’s been working in Misha’s office for just over a year now, and she’s never made a mistake, not one. She’s one of the most organized people I’ve ever met. Without her, my husband might forget to take breaks or eat lunch.

But as I say this, a stormcloud of doubt gathers over my head, darkening my thoughts. I gazed up and the flight attendant gave me a sad, knowing look. Apologizing again, I moved away from the ticket counter and found a quiet place to call my husband. 

After three rings, Misha finally picked up.

“Ari,” he said quickly, breathless, as if he were walking. “This isn’t a good time. I’m in the middle of something.”

Something about his tone made my stomach sink.

“Misha, please,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I’m at the airport. There’s a problem with my ticket.”

There was a pause. Just a fraction of a second too long.

“What kind of problem?” he asked.

“They say there’s no ticket under my name,” I explained. “The boarding pass you sent last night—it was transferred. It says the seat belongs to Mavis now.”

Silence.

Then—soft, unmistakable feminine laughter in the background. Light.

My fingers tightened around my phone. “Is someone with you?”

“Of course there is,” Misha replied impatiently. “I told you, I’m busy.”

My heart thudded painfully against my ribs. “Are you… are you already on the plane?”

“I’m at the gate,” he said. In the background, I heard the clink of glassware, and a woman’s voice asking if he wanted a drink. “Listen, Ari, there’s no time to sort this out right now.”

“Misha,” I whispered, my throat tightening. “It’s our anniversary.”

He exhaled sharply, like I was exhausting him. “I know. And I’m sorry. But things changed.”

“Changed how?” I asked. “You booked this trip for us. You promised.”

“Mavis needed to come,” he said matter-of-factly. “She’s been working nonstop on the grant application. She deserves a break.”

The words landed slowly, one by one.

“So… you’re taking her,” I said. “Instead of me. Your wife?”

“Don’t twist this into something it’s not,” he replied. “Mavis willll help you book a flight for tomorrow. Today, the two of us are leaving from the office together—so don’t overthink it, okay? You’re being dramatic.”

Dramatic.

“There are no other flights,” I said quietly. “No open seats. I checked.”

“Well,” he said, distracted, “Then wait for me to get back. It won’t be long— I promise I’ll make it up to you with an even better trip in a week.”

How ironic.

He said it so lightly—like he was rescheduling a dinner reservation. Like it meant nothing at all.

“Misha,” I asked, my voice barely holding together, “did you even think to tell me?”

“I was going to,” he said, too quickly. “It just… slipped.”

Holding my head up to keep the tears from rolling down my cheeks, I stared blurry-eyed at the departure screen. 

This wasn’t the first time he’d brushed me off lately.

To be honest, this trip was the last chance I was giving him.

 “Ari,” he added, lowering his voice, “can we not do this right now? You know how stressful things are for me.”

“Have fun on your trip,” I laughed bitterly, hanging up before he could respond.

 ******

Leaving the airport, I headed straight to our penthouse in Manhattan and as soon as the elevator opened to our floor, I slammed open the door and in a rush, I grabbed everything that belonged to me leaving nothing behind–not even a toothbrush. I tore our wedding photo from the frame, the glass splintering under my fingers and threw them with a shattering smash into the garbage chute. 

Three years of love scattered across the floor like the shards of a promise I finally stopped believing in.

The distance he’d kept these past two months suddenly made sense. And with his own hands, he erased the very last good image I still had of him.

Wiping my eyes, I stepped over the mess just as my phone rang. 

“Hello, is this Ariana Carter?” a bright voice greeted me on the other end. “This is Sharon with Haven Medical Group. I’m calling to see if you are still considering our offer.”

A week ago, I received an unexpected email from a prestigious hospital on the West Coast, offering me a fully-funded research position. One of my mentors from school had floated my name as a potential candidate. The offer was very generous–enough to start a new life. 

I was so in love with Misha, so sure of our future, that I disregarded the unwanted offer, placing the message in my junk folder.

But now, what do I have to lose? I’ve already lost everything. 

“Yes, I have considered your offer,” standing a bit straighter, I added, “And I’m ready to accept. I can be in San Francisco by tomorrow.” 

“Your ticket has been sent to you,” Sharon promises. “Welcome aboard. We all have heard such great things about you. We can’t wait to get started.”   

“Neither can I,” I said as I hung up. “Thank you for the opportunity.” 

I’m done waiting for Misha. Never again. 

I’m ready to live my own life, this time for myself.