CHAPTER 2: Nothing Prepares You

Nothing prepares you for it.

Not the therapy books stacked on your nightstand, not the whispered warnings from your married friends over too many glasses of cheap wine, not even the goddamn movies where the betrayed wife always looks flawless while she hurls a vase at the cheater’s head. I swear to every fucked-up god listening, nothing in this world arms you for the moment you catch your husband balls-deep in your own twin sister.

Nothing in the fucking world.

No matter how many times the nightmare version of it had played on repeat in my head during those sleepless nights when Elias came home smelling like “late meetings.”

Nothing prepared me for this.

I stood frozen in the doorway of our bedroom, the paper bag of anniversary cookies still warm against my hip. The stupid red ribbon cutting into my palm as the air hung heavy with his sweat and the favorite cologne he only wore when he wanted to impress someone.

This time, that someone just happened to be my sister.

Get your shit together, Lila, I mentally screamed at myself.

Just breathe.

It’s still not too late to turn around and pretend this isn’t happening.

But my feet refused to move, and my eyes refused to blink.

Instead, I unconsciously called out to him, “Elias?”

His eyes snapped open at his name and they immediately locked on mine across the room.

“Lila.”

Behind him, Clara shifted under the sheets, her hair tumbling wild across the pillow we had picked out together at IKEA last summer.

Ironic, isn’t it.

Worse, she didn’t even have the decency to look guilty.

She simply propped herself up on one elbow, the sheets slipping down like she was posing for a magazine, and gave me that lazy, satisfied smile she had perfected since we were twelve. “Oh, Sister. You’re back early.”

Yes, too early apparently.

I felt a sob claw its way up my throat before I could stop it.

My lips trembled, and I had to bite down hard enough to taste blood just to prevent it from spilling out as I watched Elias pull out of her—Jesus, the wet sound of it burned itself into my brain —while I stood up like this was some casual day.

I tried to say something but all that came out was a pathetic little “Yes…” that died halfway across the room.

Elias walked toward me, barefoot on the hardwood, and every step made my stomach twist tighter. He stopped right in front of me, and lifted one of his traitor hands to brush a tear off my cheek with his thumb. The touch was so gentle it almost broke me worse than the sight of him inside her. “I wasn’t expecting you back this early.”

I forced my lips into something that might pass for a smile if you squinted through the tears.

“Oh, sorry about that,” I managed. “It’s our anniversary so I wanted to surprise you.”

And as proof, I held up the stupid paper bag like it was evidence in a trial.

His gaze dropped to the bag. “Mhm. Is it in there?”

“What?” I stammered, clutching the bag tighter.

“Anniversary? The surprise.”

“Oh.”

I opened the bag and pulled one out, still warm with golden edges, sea salt sprinkled exactly how he liked, and handed it to him.

He took it, bit in, and chewed. “It’s nice.”

Nice.

I beamed at him anyway—because that was what I was supposed to do, right? Smile through every mess life hurled my way, no matter what.

But I’m so fucking tired of smiling.

More tears slipped down my cheeks and this time I didn’t even bother wiping them. “I’m glad you like it,” I said, my voice cracking on the last word, but I kept the smile glued on.

Elias swallowed the rest of the cookie, brushed crumbs off his bare chest, and walked right past me without another word.

And I was left standing there in the doorway, with Clara who was sitting on the edge of the bed as she pulled up her jeans. She tugged the zipper up slowly, the metallic rasp filling the silence between us. Then her eyes flicked up to mine, and there it was—a pitying little smirk playing on her lips.

“Still settling for crumbs, huh?” She buttoned her shirt and tilted her head. “Sometimes I pity you.”

I bit my lips again, the familiar metallic ting of blood filling my taste buds.

“Why are you doing this?”

She paused, her fingers stilling on the last button. Then her brows drew together in a fake-confused frown. “What do you mean?”

“Drop the act, Clara!”

She stood up slowly, smoothing her jeans over her hips with a casual swipe of her hand, looking so put-together, so effortlessly me-but-better, that it made my stomach roll. “Elias was never yours,” she said simply. “The only reason you’re answering his last name is because I left him first. But if this is too much for you…” She shrugged, that same careless lift of her shoulders she used when she didn’t want to deal with my feelings. “You can request for a divorce. Wouldn’t that be much easier?”