Space Between Hearts
Once I begged for your love while our son drew his last breath. Now watch me take back everything you hold dear.
The first time, I died on a rain-slicked road with my four-year-old's name on my lips and my husband's rejection still burning in my chest.
Silas Vance took three years from me. Three years of existing like furniture in his mansion while he draped Clara over his arm at every gala, every interview, every moment that mattered. When our son needed him, really needed him he let my calls go to voicemail. Thirteen times. I counted.
Our son didn't make it through the night. Neither did I.
Then I opened my eyes.
Two years earlier. Divorce papers on the nightstand. My son's laugh echoing from down the hall.
This time, I won't beg. Won't wait. Won't shrink myself small enough to fit in the shadows he assigned me.
This time, I'll become someone he doesn't recognize. Someone who smiles at his enemies, steals his deals, and dismantles his empire while he's still searching for his meek little wife.
When he finally figures it out—when he's pounding on my door, begging for answers, desperate for a second chance?
I'll hand him those signed papers and remind him:
Some deaths are just the beginning.