Chapter 5

I thought after that fight, we wouldn't speak until Michael signed the papers.

But that night, he called.

Seeing his name on the caller ID, a coldness settled in my chest.

When I answered, soft music played through the home speakers.

He'd put on my playlist.

Michael sounded drunk, his voice hoarse.

"Amanda, we shouldn't be like this. Can we talk?"

"What misunderstanding can't we fix? Everything was fine before."

Fine. That word made me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

"Michael, when was the last time you asked how I was?"

Silence.

"When was the last time you remembered I'm allergic to mangoes? That your secretary sent me a mango cake and I could have died?"

More silence.

"I didn't—" His voice dropped. "Olivia said it was a regular cake. She wouldn't—"

"She told you it was regular?"

"Yes, I specifically told her no mangoes because—" He stopped.

"Because you know I'm allergic." I finished for him. "So either Olivia ignored your instructions, or she lied. Which one is it?"

The line was so quiet I could hear the ice shifting in his glass.

"I'll ask her."

"Don't bother. I already have my answer."

I hung up.

For the first time, I'd planted a seed of doubt about Olivia in his mind. Not through tears or accusations—just facts.

Whether it grew was up to him.

The next morning, I went to a job interview. A small interior design firm was looking for someone with an eye for detail. Before marrying Michael, I'd studied design—dropped out when Noah was born because the George family insisted I stay home.

The interview lasted forty minutes. The manager seemed impressed.

"When can you start?"

"Immediately."

She smiled. "Welcome aboard."

Walking out into the sunlight, I felt something I hadn't felt in years.

A future. My own.