Chapter 2

Nora's POV

My mental state kept deteriorating. The next day, I stumbled into the psychiatry department.

"Doctor, please. I need more antidepressants."

The psychiatrist who had been treating me checked my file and frowned. "Ms. Reed, your insurance was terminated last week. The policyholder took you off the plan. I can still write the prescription, but you'll be paying full price until you get new coverage."

Ringing filled my ears. She turned the screen toward me. Policyholder: Evan Hale.

Before I could take it in, my boss called, furious.

"Your husband called HR this morning," he snapped. "He says you've been faking depression to get your accommodations. Do you know how that makes us look? Clean out your desk. Legal is looking into whether this is fraud."

He hung up without letting me explain. When I tried him again, I found he'd blocked my number. I'd spent years living with depression. Being told I was faking it hit me harder than anything.

I made it home in a daze. When I saw Evan, I couldn't hold back my tears.

"Why have you been telling people I'm not clinically depressed?"

He rubbed his forehead. "You were never depressed. I've just spoiled you for too long. Besides, why would you want everyone to know about depression? It's nothing to be proud of."

Just like that, he brushed aside five years of suffering.

A noise came from the bedroom. I went in and found Clara stuffing Mom's keepsakes into plastic bags as though they were garbage.

"Stop! Those belong to my mom!"

Clara held the bag so tightly I couldn't pull it away. "You're suicidal because you keep looking at this stuff," she insisted. "Getting rid of it is good for you."

She dropped a photo of Mom and me into the bag. The glass cracked sharply. A fracture ran between our faces, splitting us apart.

I rushed over and snatched up the frame. The broken glass dug into my palm as I closed my fingers around it. Blood ran down my arm and dropped onto the floor.

Clara reached for the frame to pull it from my hand. A shard cut her finger, and she cried out. Evan hurried straight to her. He gently held her injured finger, his attention entirely on her.

"Even if you're helping Nora, look after yourself," he told her. "You know you can't stand blood."

I stood with blood gathering around my foot, soaking into the carpet. My fingertips pressed deeper into the splintered wood of the frame. My nails were splitting, but I felt almost nothing.

Evan tended Clara's finger before he finally turned to me.

"It's only a frame. I'll get someone to glue it back together. You won't be able to tell."

"Shut up."

Clara looked over at me, her eyes filling with tears. Then she shoved Evan aside and ran from the room. He took several steps after her before turning back. When he pulled me into his arms, I could see the exhaustion in his face.

"Clara's my best friend. She did this because she wants us to stay together. Stop treating her like an enemy. If you're angry, take it out on me. But don't talk to her that way again. Please, I'm begging you."

To Evan, Clara was bright and sunny. Dad had seen his mistress the same way, as if she had something his wife never could. Mom had spent years beside him and still couldn't compete with that image in his head.

Evan was no different from Dad. I wasn't going to end up like Mom.

I pushed Evan away. The divorce papers were already signed and tucked into my pocket. I reached for them, drew a long breath, and began, "Evan, we're—"