Chapter 7

"Hello, Jonathan." Selene's voice was flat. "I've only been gone ten days. I didn't realize you'd already gotten yourself a new wife."

Jonathan took a few steps toward her.

"It's not what you think. I..."

Then he saw the cut on her forehead.

"What happened? How'd you get hurt? I told you to keep your head down in there. Did you pick another fight? Did you mouth off to someone? Are you—"

His brows drew together. The look was all reproach.

"She didn't. Selene's been a model inmate. Another inmate jumped her. We've already disciplined the woman responsible."

It was the guard who finally spoke up for her.

Jonathan nodded, satisfied, like that was the end of it.

A scream came down the corridor.

"Jonathan! Where the hell are you? Do you want me? Do you want this baby? Because if you don't, I'll take care of it myself."

His face changed. He spun around.

"I want him. I want him."

He was already running. Selene heard his footsteps fade. She let out a quiet breath. Once, Jonathan had panicked over her like that. Once. It felt like a memory from somebody else's life.

On the thirtieth day, they let her go.

"Jonathan said he'll be a little late. Just wait in the lobby."

Selene shook her head.

"He doesn't need to come."

She signed the paperwork and walked out. She went straight to the courthouse and filed for divorce. From there to the immigration office to pick up her visa to France.

Then she went back to the basement studio. The place that had been home for three years. The place that had warmed her and then thrown her away.

There was an envelope on the foyer table. She opened it. Inside was a key. A pink card was attached, in his handwriting: For Selene. Welcome home.

A spike of pain went through her chest. She had passed the three-year test. Congratulations.

She packed a small bag. Then she pulled the moissanite ring off her finger and set it on the entryway table. On top of the ring, she laid out, one by one: the divorce papers, the settlement agreement, a formal complaint of bigamy, and last, a copy of Jonathan's genetic infertility diagnosis.

She breathed out.

She boarded a plane to Paris. Through the window, she watched the city she'd lived in for three years shrink and disappear. She closed her eyes.

From now on, Jonathan, however far apart we are, we will never see each other again.

Meanwhile, Jonathan was finishing up at the new place he'd bought her. Then he got in his car and drove to the holding facility. He knew the last month had been hard on her. But she'd made it. Three years, and her loyalty hadn't broken. Maybe he'd been wrong about her after all.

Back when her brother was dying, she'd been desperate. People do dumb things when they're desperate.

At the thought of this, Jonathan felt much better.

As for Vivienne's baby, he could just bring it home and put it under Selene's name. She wouldn't have to suffer through childbirth herself. He didn't see why she'd object.

At the facility, they told him she was already gone.

He called her phone.

“The number you have dialed is not in service.” He frowned.

Jonathan: [Selene, are you angry? I came to pick you up. Where are you?]

The text sent. Then a red exclamation mark popped up next to it. She'd blocked him.