Chapter 2One Paintbrush Ended Our Marriage

Six months already felt like another lifetime.

The day my water broke, Ethan was away on business.

I was baking cookies at home.

I had made a little cookie version of Ethan, a little one of me, and a tiny baby between us.

Halfway through, my water broke.

I called Ethan again and again.

His phone was busy every time.

By the time I reached the hospital, the baby was almost here.

Before they took me into delivery, I gripped Nora's hand.

"Call Ethan.

"I want him there when I come out."

She nodded through tears.

I spent three hours in labor.

He didn't come. Not that day, and not once during the week I spent recovering in the hospital.

When I finally tried walking again, dizziness nearly knocked me over.

I threw up in the bathroom and had to lean against the door afterward just to breathe.

That was when I heard Diane, my mother-in-law, out in the hallway, scolding Ethan over the phone.

"What kind of husband are you?

"Your wife nearly died giving birth to your child.

"What are you doing that's more important than coming back to see her?

"Do you really have no curiosity at all about what your own daughter looks like?"

There was a pause, as though he were actually trying to picture her.

I tightened my hand around the doorknob.

Part of me wanted to know how Ethan imagined our daughter.

Then he answered.

"Jenna has big eyes.

"She's beautiful.

"So the baby is probably beautiful too."

His tone stayed careless.

"I just hope she doesn't inherit Jenna's temper.

"Or that extreme personality."

He spoke about me like I was an inconvenience.

"Mom, you're the one who likes Jenna.

"Not me.

"You were the one who pushed me into marrying her and having a child.

"I don't love Jenna.

"And I don't feel much for a child she gave birth to either.

"Didn't you already arrange a private recovery suite?

"Nutritionist, nurses, everything?

"What exactly do you need me there for?"

I stood frozen behind the door.

Something inside me sank.

Even after moving into the recovery suite, I couldn't let it go.

I drove to the city where Ethan was supposedly working.

It wasn't far.

I had heard he had signed a new artist and was helping her stage an exhibition by the sea.

The largest piece in the gallery was a portrait.

A man in profile, in a dark coat and rimless glasses, his eyes painted with deep, restrained emotion.

I recognized Ethan immediately.

Then I saw the title.

"Longing."

Not his name, not "Portrait of a Man." Just that one word.

Artist: Summer Bell.

I knew that name.

I had once found a blacked-out photograph tucked inside a book Ethan read often.

Summer Bell's name was written on the back.

I stood in front of the enormous portrait.

It was almost my height.

My chest tightened until the sounds around me seemed far away.

Then footsteps stopped behind me.

Still weak from childbirth, I slowly turned.

The color drained from my face when I met Ethan's eyes.

"Who told you I was here?"