Chapter 2

MAYA

The house was too quiet. It had been six months since the metal of the car crumpled like paper. Six months since the world I built out of lies fell apart in a spray of shattered glass and screaming tires. 

I was the one who survived. I was the one who woke up from the coma. But sometimes, when I look at the empty space in our bed or the way Liam looks at his phone, I think the wrong person died that night.

Mark was gone. Sarah’s husband was buried in a cold plot of land on the edge of town. He died instantly. I, on the other hand, had drifted in a dark ocean of sleep for weeks. While I was sleeping, the truth was waking up. While I was unconscious, the doctors were telling Liam that his wife had been in a car with another man. They were telling him that we were traveling to a hotel two towns over. They were giving him my phone, filled with messages that proved I was not the woman he thought I was.

I sat at the small kitchen table, staring at a cup of tea that had gone cold. My legs still ached. The doctor said the physical pain would fade, but the heaviness in my chest felt permanent. It was a physical weight, like I was carrying Mark’s body on my shoulders every single day. I killed him. Not with a weapon, but with my choices. If I hadn't asked him to meet me, if I hadn't insisted we drive fast to make it back before dinner, he would be home with Sarah right now.

The front door opened. I didn't jump. I didn't even move. I knew the sound of Liam’s keys. I knew the way he sighed before he stepped inside, as if he had to prepare himself to breathe the same air as me.

"Are you still sitting in the dark?" Liam asked. He didn't turn on the light. He walked past me into the kitchen to put a grocery bag on the counter.

"I wasn't thinking about the lights," I said. My voice was thin. "How was your day?"

"It was fine," he replied. He started taking things out of the bag. A carton of eggs. A loaf of bread. A specific type of herbal tea that I didn't drink.

"Is that for Sarah?" I asked softly.

Liam stopped moving. His hand stayed on the box of tea. He didn't look at me. "She is having a hard time sleeping. This helps her relax."

"I see," I said.

The irony was a bitter pill to swallow. While I was in a coma, fighting for my life, my husband was the one who had to tell Sarah that her husband was dead. He was the one who sat with her at the funeral. He was the one who held her hand because he was the only other person who understood the specific type of pain Mark and I had caused. They were bonded by our betrayal.

"You look at me like I am a monster for helping her," Liam said, finally turning around. His face was hard. "But you have to understand, Maya. I was alone. You were in that hospital bed, and I had no one. Sarah was the only person who knew exactly how I felt. We were both victims of the same lie."

"I don't think you are a monster, Liam," I whispered. "I think you are a good man. I just didn't realize that while I was sleeping, you found a way to move on without me."

"I haven't moved on," he snapped. "I am just trying to survive the mess you made. Sarah has nothing now. They didn't have kids. They didn't have a backup plan. She was completely dependent on a man who was busy cheating on her with my wife. She is lost."

"And you are finding her," I said. It wasn't a question.

Liam leaned against the counter. "She is a good person, Maya. She is kind and she is honest. Things you forgot how to be a long time ago."

I felt the tears stinging my eyes again. I was so tired of crying. "I know. I know everything is my fault. I carry that every second. I see Mark’s face every time I close my eyes. I see the headlights. I hear the sound of the crash. Do you think I want to be the one who lived? I would trade places with him in a heartbeat if it meant you could be happy."

"That is a lie," Liam said. He walked over to the table and sat across from me. "If you really cared about my happiness, you would have stayed true. You would have valued what we had. But you didn't. You wanted more. You wanted something exciting. Well, is this exciting enough for you now? The walkers? The funerals? The silence?"

"No," I said. "It is a nightmare."

"It is a nightmare for everyone," Liam agreed. "But Sarah is the one who suffered the most. She lost her husband. She lost her future. She is all alone in that big house with no children and no one to talk to. So yes, I go over there. I fix her sink. I bring her tea. I listen to her cry. Because someone has to be a human being in this situation."

"Do you love her?" I asked. The question felt like a lead ball in my stomach.

Liam didn't answer right away. He looked at the cold cup of tea on the table. "I love the fact that she doesn't lie to me. I love that when she says she is going to the store, she actually goes to the store. I love that she understands what it feels like to be thrown away by the person you trusted most."

"That isn't an answer," I said.

"It is the only answer you get," Liam replied. He stood up and grabbed the tea he bought for her. "I am going over there now. She had a panic attack this afternoon."

"Wait," I said, reaching out to touch his sleeve. "Please. Can we just talk for ten minutes? About us? Not about the accident or about Sarah? Just about us?"

Liam looked down at my hand on his arm. He didn't pull away, but he didn't move toward me either. "There is no us, Maya. There is just a house we both live in. There is a legal document that says we are married. But the us you are looking for died in that car with Mark."

"I am still here, Liam," I cried out. "I am right here! I am trying so hard to fix myself. I go to therapy. I do my exercises. I am trying to be the woman you loved again."

"You can't go back," Liam said. His voice was quiet now, which made it hurt even more. "You can fix your legs. You can fix your body. But you can't fix the way I see you. When I look at you, I don't see my wife. I see the reason Sarah is a widow. I see the reason I can't trust my own shadow."

He pulled his arm away gently. It wasn't a violent move, but it felt like he was cutting a rope. "I will be back late. Don't wait up."

The door closed again. This time, the sound felt like a hammer hitting a nail. He was going to her. He was going to the woman I had hurt the most. He was giving her the comfort that used to belong to me. And the worst part was that I couldn't even be angry at him. How could I be? I was the one who pushed him into her arms. I was the one who created the void that she was now filling.

I stood up, using my walker to steady myself. The house felt huge and empty. I walked slowly down the hallway to the small room where I kept my old photos. I found a picture of Liam and me from our third anniversary. We were on a beach. He was laughing, his arm draped around my neck, and I was looking at him like he was the center of the universe.

I remember that day. I remember thinking I was the luckiest woman alive. So why did I do it? Why did I start talking to Mark at that office party? Why did I respond to that first message? It started so small. A compliment here. A joke there. A feeling of being noticed by someone new. It felt like a game. It felt like something I could control.

I never thought about the ending. I never thought about the cost. I never thought about Sarah, sitting at home, waiting for a husband who would never come back. I never thought about Liam, sitting in a hospital waiting room, wondering if his wife would ever wake up only to realize he wished she hadn't.

I sat on the floor, my back against the wall. My legs were screaming in pain, but I ignored them. The pain in my heart was much louder. I thought about Mark. He wasn't a bad man, but we were bad together. We were two selfish people who thought we could have everything without paying the price. Now he was dead, and I was a prisoner in a life that no longer wanted me.

I wondered what they were talking about right now. Liam and Sarah. Were they sitting on her porch? Was he telling her a joke to make her smile? Was she leaning her head on his shoulder? The thought made me feel sick, but it also made me feel a strange sense of justice. Maybe this was how it was supposed to end. Maybe the two people we broke were supposed to find each other in the ruins.

But where did that leave me?

I was the ghost. I was the reminder of everything they wanted to forget. I was the living proof of their pain.

I looked at my hands. They were shaking. I realized then that I didn't just lose Liam. I lost myself. I didn't know who Maya was anymore. I wasn't the loyal wife. I wasn't the happy woman. I was just a collection of mistakes held together by skin and bone.

I closed my eyes and tried to pray, but the words wouldn't come. What could I ask for? Forgiveness? I didn't deserve it. Peace? I didn't earn it. I just sat there in the dark, listening to the clock on the wall. Every tick was a second of my life passing by. Every tock was a reminder that Liam was with her.

I stayed on the floor for a long time. The moon rose and cast long, blue shadows across the room. I felt cold, but I didn't get a blanket. I wanted to feel the cold. I wanted to feel something other than the numb, hollow ache in my soul.

I am sorry, I whispered to the empty room. I am so, so sorry.

But the walls didn't answer. The house remained silent. And miles away, my husband was holding a woman whose heart I had broken, while I sat alone in the dark, waiting for a morning that would never truly feel like light.