And in the silence that followed, my whole life split open for the second time.
There are moments when the past doesn’t return gradually. It shows up dressed well, smelling expensive, and carrying stationery.
I gripped the edge of the door until my knuckles hurt.
The hallway light was weak and yellow, throwing long shadows behind them. Ethan looked exactly like he always had when he needed to appear composed—charcoal suit, perfect tie, jaw set in that careful way that made him seem calm even when he was furious. He had always carried himself like a man walking through a boardroom, even in grocery stores, even in our kitchen, even in the bedroom during the last year of our marriage when every conversation sounded like a negotiation.
Victoria, on the other hand, looked soft on purpose.
Beautiful hair arranged in effortless waves that probably took an hour. Neutral makeup. Pearl earrings. A smile trained to say I am gracious, I am generous, I am above pettiness. The kind of woman who looked innocent while drawing blood.
“I can take the invitation,” I said quietly. “But I can’t have visitors. I’m recovering.”
Her expression flickered, just slightly. “Of course. We’ll only be a minute.”