The Pampas grasslands. He grilled steak for her with his own hands. She photographed his busy silhouette and his smoke-flushed face.
The Great Rift Valley in East Africa. He crouched on the ground and caught her vomit in his bare hands. The photo was blurry, as if taken candidly, but the caption dripped with pride: "Morning sickness hit. He panicked and just caught it with his hands."
Every landscape I'd fantasized about a thousand times, every destination I'd never reached—Alice Dotson had claimed them all.
I was more certain than ever. Alice knew exactly what she was doing. She'd been faking her illness the entire time. All of it, to steal Dustin from me.
Finally, the sixth day arrived. Tomorrow evening was the time my father and I had agreed upon.
The sun was sinking. I stood by the window, slid the wedding band off my ring finger, and dropped it into the trash can with a sharp clink.
Out of nowhere, a large hand with pronounced knuckles reached past me and fished it out bare-handed.
"Cecily, you threw away our wedding ring?" Dustin's fingers were smeared with filth from the trash, but he gripped the ring tight, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Why?"