Surviving The Fall: My Husband's Deadly Betrayal

EVELINE POV:

I looked at my reflection in the mirror.

I had spent two hours getting ready, carefully putting on the elegant black silk dress he had bought me for our honeymoon.

Tonight was our second wedding anniversary.

Everything is going to change tonight, I told myself.

A deep breath. My hand drifted down to rest flat against my stomach. Three years. Three years of negative tests, invasive doctor visits, and being told my chances of conceiving naturally were almost zero. And yet, the positive test was hidden safely in the bathroom cabinet-our impossible miracle.

The doctor had warned me to be extremely careful in these first few fragile weeks, so physical intimacy was out of the question tonight. But I still wanted the atmosphere to be perfectly romantic when I handed him the small gift box containing the news. I imagined the look of surprise on Shane's face, and my heart gave a hopeful, frantic flutter.

The sound of a key turning in the front door lock made me jump.

He was home.

I quickly switched off the main bedroom lights, leaving only the single, dim lamp on the nightstand. The air instantly felt thick with manufactured romance. I heard the thud of his things hitting the floor in the living room, then footsteps heading my way.

I bit down on my lower lip, a nervous habit I'd had since childhood.

Shane pushed the door open, bringing a gust of Chicago's winter chill with him. He leaned his expensive Bauer hockey bag against the wall, the slight bump echoing in the quiet room.

He didn't even look at me.

He just shrugged off his coat, tossing it onto a chair.

"Why are the lights off?" he asked, his voice laced with impatience.

My heart sank.

His eyes finally landed on me, scanning the carefully chosen dress. There was no flicker of fire, none of the heat I had craved. Just a cold appraisal, like I was an object he was inspecting for flaws.

I summoned my courage and walked toward him, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet. I tried to wrap my arms around him from behind, the way I used to.

He sidestepped me. An instinctive, almost imperceptible flinch.

My arms froze in mid-air. The heating was on full blast, but a chill crept up from the soles of my feet and spread through my entire body.

He turned, his handsome face tight with exhaustion and annoyance. "Eveline, I'm tired. I had a long day of practice."

"I know," I said, my voice trembling slightly. I forced a smile. "I just... it's our anniversary, Shane."

I gestured toward the nightstand. A bottle of his favorite whiskey and his crystal glass sat waiting, next to my flute of alcohol-free sparkling cider. Two years ago, we had exchanged rings in a warm, whiskey-fueled haze.

His gaze flickered over the setup, utterly unmoved. "Anniversary? Oh."

It was a flat, dead sound. Like I had just reminded him to take out the trash.

He walked past me, straight to the bathroom, grabbing his phone. The screen's cold blue light illuminated his indifferent profile. "I need to return a few calls. My agent's been blowing me up."

I stood there, a statue in black silk, and watched him close the bathroom door. I could hear his voice, lower now, but distinctly warmer, gentler, than it had been with me.

I caught fragments.

"...of course, baby..."

"...soon as I handle things here..."

"...don't be like that, Amber..."

The name dropped like a lead weight into the quiet hallway. Amber.

A woman's name. A name whispered with a sickening, casual intimacy that he hadn't used on me in years.

"...you miss me too?"

Every gentle word was a needle, piercing my heart. Who was he talking to?

My body went cold. The expensive silk dress suddenly felt like a clammy, reptilian skin against my own.

I walked slowly back to the mirror and stared at the ridiculous woman looking back at me. The makeup, the lingerie-it was all a joke.

I raised a hand to wipe away the lipstick, but it was shaking too much.

The bathroom door opened. Shane walked out, already changed into sweatpants, his face a mask of casual indifference.

He didn't even glance at me as he went straight to the closet and pulled out a separate comforter.

"What... what are you doing?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"I'm sleeping in the study tonight," he said without turning around. "Got an early skate tomorrow, don't want to wake you."

It was the same excuse he'd used for the last two months. We hadn't shared a bed in weeks.

He clutched the comforter and walked out of the master bedroom without a backward glance. He even had the decency to close the door gently behind him.

The soft click of the latch was the sound of my last hope dying.

My legs gave out, and I crumpled onto the cold floor. The tears I'd been holding back finally broke free, hot and silent.

I curled into a ball, the freezing silk a poor comfort for my equally cold body.

I don't know how long I cried. Long enough for the tears to dry on my face, my skin pulling painfully.

I lifted my head and looked at the empty king-sized bed, at the two untouched glasses on the nightstand-his crystal glass of whiskey and my flute of alcohol-free sparkling cider.

A sharp pain, a mix of humiliation and heartbreak, seized me.

Slowly, I got to my feet. I walked to the nightstand and picked up his untouched glass of whiskey. The amber liquid swirled under the dim light, offering a tempting, numb oblivion. I lifted it to my lips, so desperate to drown the pain, but froze, my hand instinctively drifting down to my lower stomach.

No.

I set the glass back down with a sharp click, leaving the whiskey untouched. I didn't need alcohol; I needed clarity.

I stared at the closed door to the study.

A crazy idea began to form in my mind.

I had to know who he was talking to. I had to know what was wrong with our marriage.

I couldn't live like this anymore.