Chapter 22

When the prints of the photos I’d taken of Mari arrived, I didn’t look at them for days.

I’d ordered them before that fight in the park. After our disagreement that night, though, I shouldn’t have tweaked fate’s nose. But I’d been hopeful. And fucking stupid.

I grabbed a glass of whiskey and, sitting on the couch that somehow still smelled like my wife, I opened the package.

I thumbed through the photos: one of Mari smiling, looking away from me. One of Mari with her eyes closed, a pink nipple just peeking out from below the bedsheet. Mari smiling at me, every emotion under the sun shining from her face.

But I’d told her that I loved her and she hadn’t told me the same. And then I’d said those words I wished I could take back. And now our marriage was over, and all that work I’d put in to keep Niamh’s inheritance intact? Down the drain, as soon as old man Gallagher caught wind of things.

Lucky for me, though, that Mari had yet to file for divorce. I didn’t know what she was waitin