Chapter Two
The ride home from the rooftop restaurant should have felt lighter.
Ten years of marriage deserved laughter spilling into the car, maybe even a stolen kiss at a red light.
Instead, Ashley sat quietly in the passenger seat, her eyes on the blur of headlights outside the window.
Kingston hummed along to the radio, tapping the steering wheel with his thumb.
It was a habit he had when he was lost in thought, one she’d always found endearing. Tonight, though, it grated.
She wanted to ask him why he’d spent so much of the evening on his phone.
Why Rebecca Jane, her name tasted bitter now seemed to hover too close, her laugh punctuating too many of Kingston’s but the kids were asleep in the backseat, their little heads tilted at matching angles, and the last thing Ashley wanted was to wake them to the sound of grown-ups fighting so she stayed quiet.
By the time they pulled into the driveway, the weight in Ashley’s chest felt heavier.
Their house, two stories of brick and glass, warm light spilling from the porch lamp usually greeted her like a safe haven.
Tonight, it felt like a stage set. A place where she would have to play the part of wife and mother until she could crawl into bed and let her doubts gnaw at her in the dark.
Inside, she carried one of the kids upstairs while Kingston carried the other.
They moved with the practiced choreography of parents who’d done this countless times, shoes off, teeth brushed, lights dimmed.
Ashley tucked the kids in, brushing kisses onto warm foreheads, whispering promises of pancakes in the morning.
When she stepped out of their room, Kingston was already halfway down the hall.
“I’m going to the study,” he said over his shoulder. “Just need to finish some notes.”
Notes.
Ashley blinked. He used to finish his charting at the hospital, even if it meant staying an extra half hour. Home time was for family. For them.
“Okay,” she said softly, though her throat felt tight.
He disappeared into the study, the door clicking shut behind him. Ashley padded into their bedroom, changed into her cotton nightgown, and sat at the edge of the bed. She stared at the empty side, the dent in the mattress where his body should have been. Her fingers traced the quilt absently.
A memory surfaced, ten years ago, their first anniversary.
They couldn’t afford rooftop restaurants back then.
They’d ordered takeout Thai food, spread it out on the floor of their tiny apartment, and eaten with chopsticks while their cat tried to steal bites of chicken.
Kingston had surprised her with a cheap silver necklace he’d picked up at a mall kiosk.
She’d worn it every day until it tarnished.
Now, they had money. They had a house. They had the kind of life people envied so why did she feel lonelier than she had in that shoebox apartment?
The shadows didn’t vanish after the anniversary.
If anything, they multiplied. It started small.
Kingston’s phone buzzing at odd hours, the screen lighting up with messages he quickly dismissed.
The way he lingered at work a little longer, sometimes coming home with the faint scent of a different perfume clinging to his jacket, though he swore it was just from the hospital corridors.
Then Rebecca’s name started popping up in conversation. Casual mentions. “Rebecca covered the ER last night.” “Rebecca had an interesting case today.” “Rebecca thinks…”
Ashley noticed, but she didn’t comment. Not yet. She didn’t want to be that wife, the suspicious, paranoid one who made something out of nothing. Instead, she listened, smiled where appropriate, and filed away every mention of Rebecca like pins in a corkboard. Each one pricked.
One evening, about a week later, Kingston came home late. The kids were already in pajamas, curled on the couch watching cartoons. Ashley stood at the kitchen counter chopping vegetables for dinner, the knife thudding rhythmically against the cutting board.
“Long day?” she asked without looking up.
“Yeah.” He loosened his tie, tossed his keys on the counter, and kissed her cheek. The kiss was quick, almost distracted.
Ashley wanted to lean into it, to grab his face and remind him that this, she, was home. Instead, she nodded, slicing through a carrot.
“Rebecca stayed back too,” he added casually, reaching for a glass of water.
Her hands stilled.
“Busy ER night,” he continued, not noticing the way her shoulders stiffened.
Ashley forced a smile. “Sounds like it.”
But that night, when she rolled over in bed and reached for him, Kingston turned away, mumbling something about being tired. Ashley stared at the ceiling, her heart aching with the silence between them. The breaking point came a few nights later.
Kingston was in the shower, steam curling beneath the bathroom door.
Ashley sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping through a parenting magazine she wasn’t really reading.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand, the vibration rattling against the wood.
She glanced at it, intending to ignore it but then she saw the name.
Rebecca.
Her chest tightened. Before she could stop herself, her hand reached out. She wasn’t the type to snoop—God, she hated women who did but her instincts screamed louder than her conscience. The message glowed on the screen.
“Ten years, and I still wonder what could have been.”
Ashley’s throat closed. Her hands trembled as she set the phone back down, her pulse hammering in her ears. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
What could have been.
Her mind spiraled. The shower shut off. The sound of the curtain scraping open snapped her back.
She scrambled to grab the magazine, flipping it open as if she’d been engrossed the whole time.
Kingston walked out, towel around his waist, water glistening on his skin.
He smiled absently, running a hand through his damp hair.
“Hey,” he said casually, as if nothing was wrong. As if her world hadn’t just tilted off its axis.
Ashley forced her lips into a smile, her voice steady though her heart was breaking. “Hey.”
That night, when Kingston fell asleep beside her, Ashley lay awake staring into the dark.
His breathing was steady, even. Peaceful.
She wanted to shake him awake, shove the phone in his face, and demand answers but the kids were asleep down the hall.
Their little lives were built on the foundation of this marriage.
If she shattered it in one reckless moment, the cracks would spread through them too.
So she stayed silent but inside her, something shifted.
It was the first hairline fracture in the perfect picture they’d painted for ten years.
The first small shadow creeping across the life she thought was safe.
Ashley knew shadows only grew darker if you ignored them and no matter how much she wanted to protect her children’s image of their father, she couldn’t shake the feeling that protecting herself might soon matter more.