Chapter 2The Lace Slip Lie

Back in the bedroom, a message from my friend, Liv, flashed on my screen.

Liv: Avery, seriously, you need to watch Miles. I heard he's getting way too cozy with his new executive assistant.

She followed up with a photo. Miles was leaning over a document, his face obscured by shadow, while a pretty, slender woman stood right next to him, leaning in, their shoulders practically touching. It was an unnervingly intimate angle.

I let out a cold laugh. When was this taken?

Liv: Just yesterday.

I’d been at my spa retreat yesterday. That explained the fresh piece of lace on the couch. My fingers tightened faintly around my phone.

It was a strange feeling—not sharp pain, but a deep, numbing ache of betrayal. But we were on the verge of divorce, so those ambiguous feelings didn't matter. I thanked Liv.

I noticed the annoying user, @UnattainableIdeal, had messaged me one second ago.

@UnattainableIdeal: Does this make you angry? That your husband is doing this?

My eyes widened. I typed back furiously. Is it not obvious enough?! Does he even see me anymore?!

@UnattainableIdeal: It sounds like you really care about him.

I was speechless. What nerve.

The person continued: You should try to be proactive. Go to him, try to flirt a little, and tell him you're bothered.

I stared at the last phrase: tell him you’re bothered. It wasn't really jealousy, it was disgust, but I was too tired to explain. He's cheating. You think that'll work?

@UnattainableIdeal: It will.

The certainty in that one word was maddening. I clicked on their profile. Just a bunch of blurry photos of houseplants. Nothing useful.

@UnattainableIdeal: Most men are like this.

I snorted. I sent a dry: Oh. I just wanted this person to stop, so I added: Fine. I’ll try it later.

The account went quiet. Thank God.

In reality, I turned off my phone and yawned. My eyelids felt heavy. Sleep beckoned. The world was ending, but first, I needed a nap.