Chapter 1: The Confidante’s Shadow

I married Nathaniel Pierce, and everyone in Maple Heights couldn't stop talking about how perfect we were together.

The news of our wedding was the talk of every backyard barbecue and beauty salon in town—the kind of match that had folks saying, "Now, that's how it's supposed to be." Even the old-timers at the diner would grin over their morning coffee, nudging each other and saying we were destined for a charmed life.

Less than three months into our still-new, honeymoon-phase marriage, I discovered he had a confidante.

The word tasted bitter. Bitter, and so foreign in my mouth. Not just a friend—someone he trusted with his secrets and laughter—the quiet parts of himself I thought belonged to me. It was like finding a hidden room in your own house, one you never had the key to.

Nathaniel cared for her, maybe even loved her. He even set her up with an apartment on the other side of town.

Everyone who paid attention in Maple Heights knew about that apartment. I could almost picture Nathaniel, always so polished. Slipping away to that little place, carrying flowers or a box of her favorite pastries. The thought stuck with me, sharp as a splinter.

When I confronted him, Nathaniel just looked at me and said, cold as ice, "Jealousy isn't the mark of a good wife."

His words hit me like ice water. He barely even looked at me—as if my pain was just a childish tantrum. The room felt suddenly enormous, and I felt small, invisible.

So I learned to play the gracious wife, even welcoming her into our lives for his sake.

I practiced my smile in the mirror, tried to make my voice sound warm and steady. At dinner parties, I made polite conversation with her, poured her wine, laughed at the right moments. I told myself it was the dignified thing to do—what any respectable wife in Maple Heights would do. But every gesture felt like a tiny betrayal of myself.

Later, I found myself sharing late-night conversations by the window with another man, feelings slipping out before I could stop them.

The guilt was strange—sweet, aching, all tangled up with excitement. We talked about books and music, about the way the moonlight hit the old sycamores on Main Street. I told myself it was just talk, but my heart knew better.

Nathaniel's eyes burned with hurt. Suddenly, his hand was at my neck.

He had never touched me in anger before. His grip was desperate, not cruel. But it shook me to my core. For a moment, I saw the man I married—hurt, jealous, raw.

I let out a sharp laugh. "Jealousy doesn't suit a gentleman, does it?"

The words came out sharp, almost mocking. Echoing his own logic back at him. I could feel the old pain in my chest, but for once, I felt oddly free.