“Angel, I’d like you to meet the Morettis and their daughter, Tiffany.”
I remembered the first time perfectly.
Alex’s hand had rested lightly against my back as he guided me toward them.
“They’re one of our biggest campaign donors. Tiffany will be interning with us this summer.”
He was beaming.
Mr. and Mrs. Moretti looked equally proud.
And Tiffany—
Tiffany couldn’t have been much older than twenty.
Pretty.
Polished.
Bright-eyed.
The kind of girl who looked like she’d been preparing for rooms like this her entire life.
“Oh, how wonderful,” I said. “You all must be proud.”
The words came naturally.
Politician’s wife.
Smile.
Shake hands.
Remember names.
Make people feel important.
Tiffany smiled brightly when Alex introduced us.
“I love your dress.”
I looked down.
“Thank you.”
“And your shoes.”
That surprised me.
Most interns wanted to talk about Alex.
Tiffany wanted to know where I’d gotten my shoes.
Within five minutes, we were talking about clothes.
She was sweet.
I liked her.
God.
I liked her.
“Angel, Tiffany will be accompanying us to Jamaica.”
I looked up from my suitcase.
Alex immediately raised both hands.
“I promise I’m not working.”
“Then why is your assistant coming on our vacation?”
“She’ll stay out of the way. I just need her close in case something urgent happens.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Alex.”
“I promise.”
He kissed my forehead.
“You won’t even know she’s there.”
“Angel, Tiffany will be accompanying us to dinner with the Kennedys.”
“Why?”
“She has a thing for Jackie O like nobody’s business. She’s been talking about this dinner for two weeks.”
I laughed.
“Fine. But she’s sitting beside you. I’m not listening to Jackie Kennedy facts all night.”
“Angel, can you help Tiffany find something for the gala?”
I looked over the top of my book.
“Why me?”
“Because you know clothes.”
“So does the internet.”
He tossed his credit card onto the bed beside me.
“Please?”
I stared at him.
He smiled.
I sighed.
“Tell her to meet me Thursday.”
“Thank you.”
“And you’re paying.”
“Obviously.”
Tiffany.
Tiffany.
Tiffany.
I stared at the headline on my phone.
It couldn’t be true.
She’d been there for years.
Intern.
Assistant.
Then something else.
Her title changed so many times I stopped keeping track.
She had traveled with us.
Been at birthday parties.
Campaign events.
Dinners.
Vacations.
She’d babysat AJ so Alex and I could have date nights.
She’d eaten at my table.
I’d bought her birthday gifts.
I’d helped her pick dresses.
She had held my child.
This couldn’t be true.
But suddenly memories I’d never thought twice about started exploding in my mind like land mines.
“Angel, what’s that soup you always send me when I’m sick?”
“Chicken and rice?”
“Yeah. Tiffany’s sick. I want to send her some.”
I smiled.
“That is sweet.”
“Angel, what was that perfume you were wearing last week?”
“Which one?”
“The one in the square bottle.”
“Why?”
“Tiffany liked it. She just got into law school. I wanted to send her something.”
I laughed.
“You’re becoming a very thoughtful boss.”
He kissed my cheek.
“I learned from you.”
“Angel, Tiffany has to spend the night.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“She drank too much.”
“At our house?”
“I can’t send her home like that.”
I sighed.
“Fine. Put her in the guest room.”
“You’re the best.”
“Angel, Tiffany needs a ride.”
“Angel, Tiffany has a meeting.”
“Angel, Tiffany forgot her passport.”
“Angel, Tiffany is staying late.”
“Angel, Tiffany needs—”
My phone rang.
I nearly dropped it.
The name on the screen made my entire body go cold.
Tiffany Moretti.
I let it ring.
It stopped.
Then started again.
I answered.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally—
“Allyson?”
I closed my eyes.
“What do you want?”
She inhaled.
“I owe you the truth.”
I laughed.
It sounded ugly.
“The truth?”
“I know you hate me.”
“I don’t know enough yet to hate you.”
Silence.
Then she said, “I’m sending you an email.”
“What?”
“Everything.”
“Tiffany—”
“I’m not going to make excuses.”
“Were you sleeping with my husband?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
One word.
That was all it took.
“Yes.”
My hand started shaking.
“How long?”
“Allyson—”
“How. Long?”
She answered.
And whatever was left of my marriage shattered.
Tiffany started talking quickly.
Her family.
The campaign.
The donations.
Her father.
Alex.
Promises.
Years of them.
“I have proof,” she said. “I know you won’t believe me without it.”
“Believe what?”
“That this wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
“What wasn’t?”
“Any of it.”
My phone buzzed.
An email.
Then another.
Then another.
Tiffany kept talking.
Her father had donated heavily to Alex’s campaigns for years.
Not just because he believed in him.
Because Alex had made promises.
To Tiffany.
To her family.
Tiffany had finished school.
Finished law school.
Built the career Alex told her to build.
Become polished enough for the rooms he wanted to enter.
Political enough.
Educated enough.
Connected enough.
The image he said he needed beside him.
Her family had turned down multiple engagement offers for their daughter because they believed Alex intended to marry her.
My stomach twisted.
“But he’s married.”
“I know.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You sat in my house.”
“I know.”
“You held my son.”
She started crying.
I didn’t care.
“You went on vacations with us.”
“I know.”
“I bought you dresses.”
“I know.”
“You let me—”
My voice broke.
“I know.”
The emails kept arriving.
Recordings.
Receipts.
Videos.
Screenshots.
Years.
I hung up.
Then I opened the first file.
Alex’s voice filled my bedroom.
I listened.
Then another.
And another.
Every recording cut deeper.
Promises to Tiffany.
Arguments about me.
Arguments with her father.
Alex saying he needed more time.
Tiffany asking when it would finally be her turn.
Her father threatening to stop funding campaigns.
Alex promising everything would change after the next election.
After the next promotion.
After the next victory.
Always after something.
And underneath all of it was me.
The wife.
The obstacle.
The life Tiffany had apparently been promised.
I listened to every single recording.
I don’t know why.
Maybe I needed to punish myself.
Maybe I needed to hear enough that there was no possibility of explaining it away.
With every recording, the marriage I’d spent the last few days convincing myself had been real disappeared a little more.
I’d stood proudly at my husband’s funeral.
I’d looked into cameras and said I wouldn’t rest until whoever murdered Alex was found.
His family had finally stopped looking at me like I’d killed him.
AJ had finally slept alone again.
My son had asked me if Daddy could still see him from heaven.
I’d told him yes.
And now this.
What was I supposed to do with this?
Which Alex was I supposed to mourn?
The one who sent me sour candy from every city he visited?
Or the one promising another woman she’d eventually have my life?
The one who rocked AJ to sleep?
Or the one who told Tiffany’s father he just needed more time?
The one whose laugh I loved?
Or the man saying—
I told you I wouldn’t leave them.
I froze.
The phone call.
That night.
Alex downstairs.
His voice low.
I told you I wouldn’t leave them.
Do what you want.
I’m ruined anyway.
I couldn’t breathe.
I stood.
I didn’t know where I was going.
I only knew I couldn’t stay there.
Mama called my name as I came downstairs.
“Allyson?”
I grabbed my keys.
Daddy came out of the den.
“Baby, where are you going?”
“I need to go.”
“Go where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Allyson—”
I walked out.
Mama called.
Daddy called.
Granny called.
I ignored all three.
I got into my car.
My old Lexus.
The same one I’d sworn I needed when I turned eighteen.
Daddy had told me it was ridiculous.
I had told him everybody had one.
He’d asked if everybody was going to make the payments.
I’d told him he was ruining my birthday.
God.
I wanted to be eighteen again.
I wanted my biggest problem to be which college I was going to choose.
I wanted to worry about how mad Daddy would be when the credit card statement came.
I wanted Mama complaining about clothes on my bedroom floor.
I wanted Granny yelling “Girl Girl” because I’d stayed out too late.
I wanted life to be simple.
Before Alex.
Before campaigns.
Before marriage.
Before death.
Before Tiffany.
Before I knew how complicated love could become.
I drove.
I don’t remember making a decision.
I don’t remember choosing a road.
But eventually I stopped.
Turned off the car.
And looked up.
I knew this house.
I had known it since I was a teenager.
I sat there.
I don’t know how long.
Then the front door opened.
Sterling stepped outside.
No shirt.
Just pajama bottoms.
He stared at my car for a moment.
Then walked toward me.
I got out.
Neither of us said anything.
He looked at my face.
Maybe that told him enough.
Maybe Granny had already called him.
Maybe it didn’t matter.
His voice was soft.
“Ally Cat.”
My eyes filled.
He opened the door.
“Come inside.”
And I followed him in.