Chapter Two

The silence of the kitchen was punctuated only by the drip of the coffee maker.

​I sat at the marble island, watching the dark liquid fill the glass carafe drop by drop. In front of me lay a clean, leather-bound notebook and a pen.

​Six months. One hundred and eighty days before society tore itself apart.

​I closed my eyes, summoning the memories of the timeline I had left behind. In the original timeline, the outbreak didn't start with a bang; it started with a whisper. A "severe flu strain" sweeping through coastal cities. Within two months, supply chains collapsed. Within four, martial law was declared. By month six, the dead were walking, and money was useless paper.

​I opened my eyes and began to write.

​Phase 1: Liquidation and Resources (Months 1–2)

​Sell off non-essential assets.

​Max out credit lines, personal loans, and store cards (credit scores won't matter in six months).

​Purchase remote land with natural water access.

​Stockpile non-perishables, antibiotics, fuel, solar equipment, and security.

​Phase 2: Reinforcement (Months 3–4)

​Build a fortified perimeter.

​Install independent power and filtration systems.

​Secure firearms, ammunition, and tactical gear.

​Phase 3: Isolation and Execution (Months 5–6)

​Move Lily to the safe site before panic starts.

​Leave the dead weight behind.

​Heavy footsteps padded down the staircase. I smoothly flipped the notebook shut and slid it under my placemat just as Marcus walked into the kitchen, wearing his silk robe and a sleepy smile.

​"Morning, honey," he mumbled, stepping up behind me and bending down to press his lips against my neck.

​Every nerve ending in my body screamed. It took every ounce of my willpower not to drive the pen into his throat. Instead, I forced my shoulders to relax and offered a faint, tired smile as I turned to look at him.

​"Morning," I said, my voice steady.

​"You're up early," he noted, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He took a sip, then checked his watch. "Oh, by the way, I might have to work late tonight. Big client presentation coming up."

​A client presentation.

​In my past life, I would have cooked him dinner, left it in the fridge with a sweet note, and waited up until midnight. Now, I knew exactly what that "presentation" was: a hotel room downtown with Sarah, paid for using our joint credit card.

​"No problem," I said smoothly. "Take all the time you need."

​Marcus paused, momentarily caught off guard by my complete lack of questioning or clinginess. He squinted at me slightly, trying to read my face, but I kept my expression completely placid—the dutiful, unsuspecting wife.

​"Right... thanks, babe," he said, clearing his throat.

​Downstairs, the front doorbell rang.

​"I'll get it," Marcus offered, heading toward the foyer.

​I followed a few steps behind, watching him open the front door.

​Standing on the porch was Sarah. She was wearing an effortless workout set, her blonde hair tossed into a messy bun, holding two iced coffees. She looked glowing, vibrant, and completely innocent.

​"Surprise!" Sarah squealed, stepping past Marcus and pulling me into a warm, fragrant embrace. "I brought iced oat milk lattes! I knew you had a busy week ahead, so I thought we could catch up before I head into the studio."

​Her body pressed against mine. The same woman who stood beside Marcus six months from now, watching through the iron bars as my daughter and I were ripped apart.

​I hugged her back, burying my face into her shoulder for a brief second.

​"You're so thoughtful, Sarah," I murmured, pulling away with a bright, perfect smile. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

​"That's what best friends are for," she chirped, handing me a cup. Her eyes flicked briefly toward Marcus over my shoulder, a subtle, fraction-of-a-second glance charged with secret intimacy. Marcus caught it, his mouth twitching into a subtle smile before he turned toward the kitchen.

​"So," Sarah said, sitting on the sofa and crossing her legs. "Any big plans for today?"

​"Actually, yes," I said, taking a sip of the coffee. "I'm meeting with a financial advisor this afternoon. I'm thinking about selling the inheritance property my grandmother left me in the mountains, as well as liquidating my private stock portfolio."

​Sarah stopped mid-sip, her eyes widening slightly. "Wait, really? Grandmother's cottage? I thought you wanted to keep that in the family for Lily."

​"It's just sitting there gathering dust," I replied nonchalantly. "Besides, market conditions are great right now. I'd rather have the cash in hand. In fact, I'm thinking of consolidating all our joint savings into liquid high-yield accounts."

​I watched her face carefully. I knew how her mind worked. Sarah was greedy, but more than that, she and Marcus had been quietly discussing how to push me out of the picture long before the apocalypse gave them an easy way out. In their eyes, any money I brought in was money they could eventually claim.

​"Wow," Sarah said, recovering quickly with a warm smile. "That sounds really smart, Clara. You should definitely do whatever brings you and Marcus security."

​"I intend to," I said.

​My phone rang from the kitchen island—an alert from my security system app. A technician was confirmed for 2:00 PM to assess structural reinforcement for the cottage.

​The stage was set. Over the next few weeks, I would drain every dollar, max out every asset tied to Marcus's name, and build an impenetrable fortress on that mountain property. They would think I was preparing a cozy vacation home for our family.

​They wouldn't realize until the gates closed that every brick, every lock, and every scrap of food belonged strictly to my daughter and me.

​I smiled at my best friend, taking another slow sip of latte.

​"Drink up, Sarah," I said softly. "We have a lot to prepare for."