Chapter 1

​POV: Evelyn

​The clock on the mantel ticked toward two in the morning, and the tea in my cup had long since gone cold, leaving a bitter film against the porcelain. Arthur had never been this late without calling, not once in the three years we had been married, so I stayed on the sofa with my eyes fixed on the darkened driveway visible through the window. The silence of the house was heavy, only broken by the sharp, rhythmic tapping of heels coming down the hallway.

​"Still sitting here like a loyal dog, I see," Rebecca said, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed over her designer silk robe.

​I didn't turn around to look at her, but I could hear the smirk in her voice as I replied, "Arthur isn't home yet, so I thought I’d wait up to make sure he’s alright."

​"He’s a grown man, Evelyn, not a toddler who needs his hand held, but since you’re already making yourself useful as the unpaid night watchman, you can go to the kitchen and make me those lemon tarts I like," she demanded, walking further into the room and tossing a fashion magazine onto the coffee table.

​"It’s nearly three in the morning, Rebecca, and the staff have already gone to bed, so perhaps I can have them made for you first thing in the morning," I suggested, trying to keep my voice steady despite the exhaustion pulling at my eyes.

​"I didn't ask for them in the morning, I asked for them now, and I don't see why you're acting so high and mighty when we both know my father only brought you into this house out of pity after your parents died," she sneered, stepping closer until she was hovering over me.

​I stood up slowly, smoothing out the fabric of my dress, and I looked at her for a moment before nodding because arguing with her had never changed anything in three years. "I'll see if the lemons are still fresh," I said quietly, walking past her toward the kitchen while she laughed behind my back.

​I was halfway through zesting the fruit when the heavy thud of the front door echoing through the foyer made my heart jump, and I wiped my hands on an apron before rushing back out to the main hall. Arthur was standing there, his coat slightly rumpled and his tie loosened, but he didn't look tired at all, in fact, he looked more alive than I had seen him in months.

​"Arthur, you're finally home, I was so worried because you didn't answer any of my texts and it's so late," I said, reaching out to take his briefcase, but he stepped back, avoiding my touch.

​Rebecca came trotting out from the lounge, a fake pout on her face as she looked at her brother and said, "Finally, maybe now you can tell your wife that she's being difficult about my dessert, though I suppose she's just cranky because you weren't here to pat her on the head."

​Arthur didn't even look at his sister, and he didn't look at me either as he reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a thick brown envelope. "Go to bed, Rebecca," he said firmly, and once she disappeared upstairs with a huff, he finally turned his gaze toward me, but his eyes were like chips of ice.

​"Is everything okay, Arthur, you look so serious and you haven't even said hello yet," I whispered, feeling a cold knot form in my stomach as he thrust the envelope into my hands.

​"Just open it, Evelyn, I don't want to spend the rest of the night talking about this when it's already been decided," he said, walking over to the sideboard to pour himself a drink.

​My fingers trembled as I tore the seal, and the heavy white paper inside felt like lead as I pulled it out, my eyes scanning the bold letters at the top that read 'Petition for Dissolution of Marriage'. I felt the air leave my lungs, and I had to grab the back of a chair to keep from falling over while I stared at the lines where my name and his were printed side by side.

​"What is this, Arthur, is this some kind of cruel joke because I don't understand why you're handing me divorce papers on a Tuesday night after three years of marriage," I said, my voice cracking as I looked up at him.

​He took a long sip of his drink and set the glass down with a definitive click, saying, "Samantha is back in town, she reached out to me a few weeks ago and we realized that we never really got over each other, so I'm not going to waste any more of your time or mine."

​"Samantha? You mean the woman who left you right before your father insisted we get married, the one you haven't spoken to in years," I asked, the shock making me feel lightheaded and numb.

​"She's the only woman I've ever truly loved, Evelyn, and you've always known that this marriage was just a business arrangement my father forced on us to keep your family’s estate from falling apart," he replied, his tone so casual it felt like he was discussing the weather.

​"But your father raised me, Arthur, he treated me like a daughter and he wanted us to be happy together, and I thought we were getting there, I thought we were building a life," I argued, stepping toward him with the papers crumpled in my hand.

​"You were building a life, maybe, but I was just fulfilling an obligation to a dead man’s wishes, and now that Samantha is here, I realize that I can’t keep living this lie just to make you feel secure," he said, checking his watch as if he were late for a meeting.

​"You're asking me to just sign these and walk away from everything, from our home and our history, just because she decided to show up again," I said, the tears finally starting to spill over.

​"I’ve already had my lawyers draw up a very generous settlement, so you won't be left with nothing, but I need those papers signed by tomorrow morning because I’ve already promised Samantha that we can start our life together immediately," he insisted, moving toward the stairs without a second glance.

​I stood there in the middle of the foyer, the divorce papers fluttering in the draft from the hallway, and I looked at his retreating back, wondering how a person could turn into a stranger in less than five minutes.

​"Arthur, wait, please just talk to me for a second," I called out, but he didn't stop, and the sound of his bedroom door locking echoed through the house like a gunshot.

​I looked down at the signature line, the empty space waiting for my name, and then I noticed something tucked into the very back of the envelope that I hadn't seen before, a small, handwritten note that wasn't in Arthur’s handwriting at all.