In that picture, Hunter was kissing my temple while I smiled like a woman who had never imagined love could be used as a business strategy. On the active line, he whispered something intimate to her that I refused to carry in my memory. I pressed the red button and ended the call without making a single sound.
For one full minute, I sat perfectly still in the quiet room. Then I stood up, walked into the kitchen, poured a glass of cold water, and drank half of it before realizing my hands were completely steady. That lack of trembling frightened me more than shaking would have, because some vital part of me had not broken under the weight of the news. It had hardened into stone.
Our luxury apartment looked exactly the same as it had an hour ago. The white marble island was polished, the dark leather barstools were tucked in neatly, and a glass bowl of green apples sat in the center because Hunter liked the house to look effortlessly curated when people stopped by. Everything around me was undeniable proof of a marriage that had been staged beautifully enough to fool even me.
I picked up my phone again and dialed my father.
