Chapter 1

Four years of marriage. Eight years of loving this man. And tonight, on our anniversary, I was standing in front of the mirror in black lace lingerie, waiting for a husband who was never going to walk through that door.

The table was set. Candles lit. His favorite beef stroganoff sitting in the middle of the dining table, the steam still curling up from the plate. I had spent three hours in the kitchen, another hour doing my hair and makeup, and twenty minutes convincing myself that tonight would be different.

Tonight, Dimitri Orlov would finally see me.

My phone buzzed at 7:42 PM. His name lit up the screen and my stomach dropped before I even answered.

"Katya, Anya just called. Misha has a high fever. I need to go to the hospital."

I pressed my lips together. My reflection stared back at me, a woman dressed up like a fool.

"Dimitri, it's our anniversary. You promised me tonight."

"I know, I know. But the kid is burning up and Anya is alone. You know she has nobody else."

She has nobody else. That was always the line. Always the excuse. His late brother's widow, poor helpless Anya Volkov, had nobody else in the entire world except my husband.

"Can't she call an ambulance? Can't she call a neighbor? Can't she call literally anyone who isn't my husband on our wedding anniversary?"

"Katya, don't start. He's three years old and he's sick. I'll be back in an hour, two max. Just keep the food warm."

Keep the food warm. Like I was a microwave. Like my only job in this marriage was to reheat and wait.

"Dimitri, if you walk out that door tonight, don't bother coming back."

He paused for half a second. I held my breath, hoping, praying that just this once, he would choose me. Just this once, his wife would matter more than his sister-in-law.

"You're being dramatic, Katya. I'll be home soon."

The call ended. I heard the front door open and close. His car engine started in the driveway and then faded into nothing.

I stood there for a long time. Long enough for the candles to burn halfway down. Long enough for the stroganoff to go cold. Long enough for the lace on my skin to start feeling like a costume for a part I was never going to play.

The wife. The priority. The one he chose.

I changed into sweatpants and sat on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen. My reflection in it looked pathetic. A woman who had given eight years of her life to a man who would drop everything for another woman's phone call.

One hour passed. Then two. Then four.

At 1:17 AM, my phone lit up again. Not Dimitri. Anya.

She had sent me a photo. Dimitri was sitting in a hospital chair, his head tilted down, watching Misha sleep on the bed. His hand was resting on the boy's forehead, gentle, protective, like a father watching over his own son.

The message underneath read: "Don't wait up for him. He's been by Misha's side since he was born. Some bonds are deeper than a marriage certificate."

I read it twice. Three times. My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped the phone.

Since he was born.

Misha was born three years ago. Three years ago, Dimitri told me he had a series of business trips. Back to back. Weeks at a time. I remembered crying on the phone, asking him to come home, and him telling me the company needed him overseas.

The company didn't need him overseas. Anya needed him. Anya needed him to hold her hand at doctor's appointments. Anya needed him to stand outside the delivery room. Anya needed him to be there when her son took his first breath.

While I sat home alone, trusting him, believing every lie, he was building a second life with her.

I thought about all the times he dropped our dinner plans because Anya called. All the weekends he spent at her house fixing things, babysitting, being the man of her household. I thought about how he once canceled our vacation because Misha had a cold. A cold.

I had told myself it was duty. Family obligation. His brother died, and Dimitri felt responsible. That was what a good man did.

But good men don't lie to their wives. Good men don't sneak away to be at another woman's side for her entire pregnancy. Good men don't build secret lives and call it loyalty.

My eyes moved to our wedding photo on the mantle. Dimitri in his dark suit, me in my white dress, both of us smiling like we had the whole world figured out. I remembered that day so clearly. The way he looked at me, like I was everything. The way he held my hand during our vows and whispered, "You're the only one, Katya. Always."

Always lasted until Anya needed him.

I got up, walked to the bedroom, and opened the bottom drawer of my nightstand. The divorce papers were already there. I had printed them three months ago during one of his disappearing acts. I told myself it was just insurance. Just in case. I would never actually use them.

I pulled them out now and set them on the bed.

Four years of marriage. Four years of dating before that. Eight years of being second place to a woman who called herself family.

I was done being the backup wife. I was done reheating dinner and wearing lingerie for a man who would rather hold another woman's sick child than hold me. I was done pretending his duty to his dead brother's family wasn't slowly killing our marriage.

I picked up a pen and signed my name on every page where it said "Petitioner."

Katya Volkov.

Katya Volkov.

Katya Volkov.

Each signature felt like pulling a knife out of my own chest. It hurt, but the bleeding had to stop sometime. Tomorrow, I would go to that hospital. Tomorrow, I would put these papers in front of Dimitri Orlov's face. And tomorrow, I would walk away from eight years of loving a man who never loved me enough.

I set the pen down and stared at our wedding photo

one last time.

"Happy anniversary to me."