Chapter 1

Vivian had gotten into college, and the family gathered at a restaurant to celebrate.

Through dinner, my mother Claire kept reaching over to fill Elliot's plate, one dish after another.

"You've worked so hard for us," she said. "We wouldn't be where we are without you."

Elliot smiled and accepted each one, then glanced at me.

"It's the least I can do. Vivian's been so good to me — I could never be ungrateful."

I assumed he was just being polite.

That assumption died in the car on the way home.

We were barely out of the parking lot when he lit a cigarette and broke the silence.

"I'm the one who pulled the strings to get Vivian into that school."

I nodded. I already knew that.

He exhaled slowly, smoke curling toward the windshield, his voice unhurried.

"Your mother came to me three times. Begged me on her knees each time. I didn't budge." He paused, letting that settle. "Then, on Vivian's eighteenth birthday, Vivian came to me herself. Said she wanted to find another way to repay me."

Something inside me went very still.

He took another long drag, savoring it.

"She's something else, that girl. Cries differently than you do."

I didn't stop to think. My hand was already moving — I slapped him across the face, hard.

"Elliot." My voice shook. "You are disgusting. She is my sister. How could you?"

The smile on his face faded, but only slightly. He didn't look angry. "You were touched by those men eight years ago and I still married you. Is she any cleaner than you were?"

He took another drag, casual as ever. "And after your father died, who do you think kept this family afloat? Everything I've given — don't I deserve something in return?"

I stared at him, my blood running cold.

Eight years ago, I had been assaulted. My father, in a blind rage, had gone after the men responsible and killed them. Elliot had been a newly licensed attorney back then. He fought against every obstacle, combed through the evidence, and found the arguments that kept my father from being labeled a murderer. He gave my father a dignified death.

He knew the truth better than anyone. He knew exactly how much I had suffered.

And yet.

Elliot reached into the back seat, pulled out a plastic bag, and dropped it into my lap.

Inside was a pair of pale cotton underwear. A dark, rust-colored stain spread across the fabric. I couldn't look at it.

His voice came out stripped of all warmth.

"It was her first time. She was eighteen that day. She could barely walk straight on her way out." He let that land. "You thought she was having cramps, didn't you? Made her a mug of hot tea and a heating pad." He glanced at the bag. "Wash those for her and send them back."

The tears came before I could stop them.

I forced my voice steady. "Elliot. I want a divorce."

He laughed — a short, cold sound — and reached over to grip my jaw.

"Divorce?" His thumb pressed into the hinge of my jaw. "You want our child to grow up without a father? Like you did?"

My whole body went rigid.

I had forgotten. In the devastation of everything he'd just said, I had completely forgotten.

I was pregnant. Six weeks.

Elliot released me, his tone sliding back into ease.

"Go on up. Get some sleep. We have a prenatal appointment tomorrow."

I shoved the car door open and ran. I nearly stumbled through the lobby, into the elevator.

Inside, I stared at the underwear in my hands for a long time. My stomach turned over and over.

When I finally pushed open the front door, Vivian was sitting on the living room couch. She was wearing the white dress I'd bought her last year. Her phone was clutched in both hands, her eyes red.

So Elliot had told her.

When her eyes landed on the plastic bag in my hands, the tears spilled over.

A second later, she dropped to her knees in front of me.

"I'm so sorry, Mara. I made a terrible mistake—"

She pressed her forehead to the floor, her shoulders heaving, her cries cutting right through me.

I stood there, looking down at the girl I had loved since she was a child, and it felt like something was slowly tearing apart inside my chest.

"Did I not treat you well, Vivian?"

I heard the break in my own voice. "When you were being bullied at that group home, I was the one who brought you home. I bought you clothes. I paid for your school. I loved you like a real sister. So why? Why would you do this to me?"

Vivian finally lifted her face. Tear tracks cut down her cheeks.

"I know he's your husband. I know it was wrong." She drew an unsteady breath. "But Elliot's done so much for me. I didn't know how to repay him. He said he just wanted to feel something clean, just once. I was already eighteen. I wasn't thinking straight and I just—"

I had stopped feeling anything.

I dropped the bag onto the floor.

"Pack your things," I said. "Get out of my house. I don't want to see you."

Vivian froze. She murmured another apology, then pushed herself to her feet — and flung herself sideways.