he pillowcase was from our bed. The curve of my shoulder, the way my hair fell-it was me, vulnerable and completely unaware. He had turned

friends, a gallery owner named Marcus, was lounging on a leather couch with a glass

as a different person in bed. Looks like he was right. I'd pay good money for a print

ut me as if I were a piece of meat, an object in a frame. I was not a person to the

alked toward the wall, my eyes locked on Liam, who had j

eeting me at a cocktail party. "I w

shard of ice. "Or I will call the police and have

tic, darling. It's art. It's a tribute to your beauty. I thought you'd be flatt

sented to th

s if that explained everythi

he's the only one taking photos. We've all seen the pictures Alex Chen posts

nger washed over me. "Wha

s. The way he looks at you. The way you're always

ative, the one he' d been spinning. That I was the u

'm cheating on you?" I aske

ok uncomfortable, shuffling their feet and avoiding my gaze. They had served their purpose. Liam gestured for them to lea

e fight draining out of me, repl

tched you with him. The late nights at the hospital, the 'conferences,' the way you talk

houted, the injustice of it all making

pher, Evelyn. I see things. I saw it from the beginning. So yes, I found comfort e

an entire narrative of my infidelity to excuse his own. He hadn't just cheated; he had built a fortre

s looked so peaceful, so safe. She had no idea that the man on the other side of the le

receded, replaced by a vast, cold emptiness. I wasn't looking at my husband anymore. I

of all emotion. And then I turned and wal