Chapter 6

Sure enough, as I got ready for bed, my phone buzzed with the expected message: I'd gotten the job.

After reading it, I took my nightly pills from the bedside table and swallowed them down.

Then I fell asleep.

For once, I slept soundly.

There's a strange peace that comes with having nothing left to lose.

I woke before my alarm.

Sunlight streamed through the window. I felt lighter.

I had a job now. A plan. A way out.

My first week at the firm was exhausting but exhilarating. I hadn't used my brain like this in years. The George family had trained me to be decorative—a hostess, a mother, a shadow.

Nobody at work knew I was Mrs. George. I was just Amanda. The new girl with sharp eyes and steady hands.

On Friday evening, my colleague Lena dragged me to a café after work.

"You never talk about yourself," she said, stirring her coffee. "Husband? Kids?"

"Divorcing. One son."

"Ah." She didn't push. "Well, cheers to fresh starts."

We clinked mugs.

My phone buzzed. Sarah George.

[Michael is sick. Come take care of him. That's your job as his wife.]

I stared at the message.

A year ago, I would have dropped everything and rushed home. Cooked his soup. Sat by his bed. Waited for a thank-you that never came.

I typed: [He has a secretary for that.]

Then I put my phone away and finished my coffee.

That night, Michael called six times. I answered on the seventh.

"What?"

"Where are you? I've been calling all day."

"I was at work."

"Work?" He sounded genuinely confused. "What work?"

"I got a job, Michael."

A long pause.

"You don't need a job. I provide—"

"You provide for Olivia's ankle checkups and branded lipstick freebies. I'll provide for myself, thanks."

"Amanda—"

"Sign the papers. They're still in your study."

I hung up before he could respond.