and more like a pristine, empty tomb. He fluffed my pillows, brought me meals on a tray, and spoke in the hushed, careful t

hen the house was silent and David was asleep, a different woman emerged. Fueled by

reless, prizing his image of a trusting husband over actual security. I o

er, buried under layers of corporate f

Victoria in Paris, laughing as he kissed her cheek in front of the Eiffel Tower. And then, the pictures that made my

or "Alex Hayes." The deed to a penthouse apartment in the city' s most expensive district, in Victoria' s name. Receipt

he' d called it an "unnecessary expense." I thought of the cheap plastic toys h

horrific new light. Every "late night at the office," every "urgent bu

hands were shaking so hard I could barely control the mouse. And then I

was just one wo

arisen. An error. But I will fix it. Nothing will st

err

n error. His entire existence was a mista

of pain. It was a glacier, vast and unmoving, carving a new path through the landscape of my soul. I