Chapter 1

Six months ago, Cole said things were tight at the plant, that the paycheck he brought home each month was less than half of what it used to be.

I believed him.

But then I saw him cash his check, peel off more than half the bills, and give them to his friend's widow.

I raised hell, but all he said was a cold, "Your little scene just cost her a job. You should go home and think about what you've done."

Then, the next thing I knew, he’d gotten his friend’s widow a job at the plant, filling my old spot.

After that, I started spending my days and nights at the flea market, selling socks.

Someone asked me why I worked so hard.

"Because I want to see what else is out there," I said softly.

Cole’s head snapped up to look at me.

...

"Well, well, not at the plant today?"

"Oh, listen to me, running my mouth. Gotta go, gotta go!"

The neighbors, walking past our house, would call out greetings dripping with insinuation.

Ever since my own husband, Cole, had me laid off from the plant and gave my job to Sarah.

The story had spread through our little town like wildfire.

Now, everyone looked at me with a mix of pity and morbid curiosity.

I put down the jar of pickles I was holding and shut the front door with a thud.

When Cole got home that evening, he did the same thing he always did, placing the meager paycheck on the table in front of me.

"They also gave out a ten-dollar gift card to the grocery store. Put it somewhere safe."

His voice was so clear and steady.

There was a time when the sound of it made my heart leap.

But now, when I looked up at his handsome profile, I felt nothing.

Maybe I was just tired.

I straightened my aching back and went to the kitchen to start dinner without a word.

Just like he always did, he took off his jacket and came over to help.

My hand, holding the skillet, paused for a moment.

Who would believe that the shift supervisor at the steel plant was such a gentle, caring, doting husband after hours?

I used to think I'd won the lottery, that I was the luckiest woman in the world to be his wife.

But then I saw that under his jacket, he was wearing a crisp, gray button-down shirt that I knew I hadn't bought him.

My hand holding the spatula started to shake.

I fought back the sting in my eyes, telling myself not to cry.

But the spatula still clattered to the floor, and I walked out of the kitchen.

Cole glanced at me, then picked up the spatula and kept cooking.