Chapter One
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It was a cold night when Ally pulled up to her Beacon Hill townhouse and the moment she stepped out of her vehicle, she saw her possessions scattered across the entryway.
Photo albums had been thrown into the flower beds and her treasured framed paintings, gifts from her late grandmother, had been chucked carelessly onto the brick walkway, their glass cracked and exposed to the damp wind blowing off the Charles River.
Her clothes hadn’t been spared either, they lay on the wet pavement, now ruined and in no condition to be worn anytime soon.
Ally slammed the car door and rushed to inspect the mess. “What on earth...?” she whispered, her hands shaking as she gathered her belongings.
The front door was unlocked and she slowly pushed it open, her mind racing through every logical explanation. Had there been a burglary? Or was this just some bizarre mistake? Maybe an emergency, she reasoned. That was the only thing that could explain this.
“Nick?” she called out, stepping into the foyer. “Nick, what is happening outside? Why are my things...”
The words died in her throat.
At the base of the sweeping grand staircase stood her husband with his tie loosened and his designer coat tossed at the nearest bench. Clinging to him with her arms wrapped intimately around his neck, was a woman in a tailored silk dress. A woman Ally recognized all too well.
It was Chloe, his newest hire and junior assistant, and they were kissing with a raw passion that made Ally feel like an interloper in her own home.
Ally froze and the warmth of the house did nothing to thaw the sudden numbness that seized her. “Nick?”
They broke apart slowly and Chloe didn’t look startled or even guilty. Instead, she smirked and shamelessly placed her manicured hand over Nick’s chest possessively. As if that was her rightful place.
Nick merely adjusted his cuffs. There was no colour in his face, no flash of panic and no attempt to smooth his hair or offer an excuse or an apology. He just looked at Ally with indifferent eyes.
“You’re back early,” Nick said flatly.
“Back early?” Ally’s voice cracked, a desperate laugh bubbling in her chest. “Nick, my things are on the sidewalk. You are... you are kissing Chloe in our home. What is this? What the hell is going on?”
“It should be fairly obvious,” Nick replied. He stepped over to the bar cart and poured himself a scotch then took a leisurely sip as if he had all the time in the world. He eventually met her gaze, his expression completely blank. “I’m moving on.”
“Moving on?” Ally took a step forward with her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. “Excuse me? What do you mean by that? I have sacrificed everything for this marriage, and this is how you reward me?”
Six years. She had given him six years of her life. At his insistence, she’d walked away from her own rising career to manage their home while his law firm took off. She’d even put off having children because he kept insisting that the timing just wasn’t right.
Nick took a slow sip, his mouth twisting into a cruel, dismissive smile. “And I appreciate the sacrifice, Ally. Truly. But let’s be honest, I’ve gotten bored with the marriage and I need a little excitement. Chloe happens to be very exciting.” He added.
The sheer arrogance of the statement hit her like a physical blow. At thirty-two, she had stripped away her independence, her ambitions, and her future, bit by bit, to construct a foundation for his success.
She had trusted him and had believed that he loved her, but now, he was shamelessly flaunting his infidelity, right inside her own home.
“You should leave,” Chloe chimed in and her voice was laced with cruel satisfaction as she twirled a lock of her blonde hair. “It’s getting late Ally and I’d hate for you to be wandering around Boston looking for a hotel this late.”
Ally snapped her head toward the younger woman, her blood boiling. “And where should I go? This is my house!”
“Not anymore,” Chloe said, resting her chin on Nick’s shoulder. “I moved in while you were... where were you again?” She said sounding smug and triumphant with her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
The air left Ally’s lungs and she stared at the man she had loved, the man who had held her through her parents’ deaths, searching his face for a flicker of the husband she knew.
“Moved in? Nick... tell me that’s not true. Tell me you didn’t just throw my entire life into the gutter.”
“Sorry, but you have to go,” Nick said. He didn’t even look at her as he turned back to Chloe, sliding an arm around her waist and leaning in to press his lips against her neck.
“No!” Ally surged forward, tears finally breaking past her eyelids. “You can’t do this! You can’t just throw me out! We are legally married!”
Nick sighed, exasperated and stepped back to press a button on the wall intercom. “Arthur,” he said calmly into the panel. “Please escort Ally out. And make sure she doesn’t linger on the property.”
Within seconds, Arthur, Nick’s senior assistant and someone Ally had treated with warmth for years, appeared from the back hallway. His eyes were glued to the floor, filled with shame, but that didn’t stop him from following Nick’s orders.
“This way, ma’am,” he murmured softly.
“Arthur, please,” Ally begged, but two heavy-set guys in black suits appeared behind him.
“Who are these strangers in my house?” Ally screamed.
“Security guards,” Chloe replied with a dismissive shrug. “We knew you’d make a scene.”
Before she could scream, before she could claw at Nick’s lapels or demand the dignity she was owed, the guards took her firmly by the elbows and marched her out of the house.
The door slammed shut behind her seconds later and the guards picked up her stuff, marched them to the edge of the property line and dumped them onto the wet concrete.
“Sorry ma’am. We are just doing our job,” one of them said quietly, avoiding her gaze before stepping back and leaving her alone.
The sky had turned darker, bruised with an incoming storm and Ally realized then that she’d dropped her car keys in the foyer when she entered the house. There was no chance in hell that Nick and Chloe would choose to be gracious now and hand them over.
She had nothing besides the bags left by the entry and as she rummaged through them, her stomach sank, none of her jewelry, the very items that could have kept her afloat over the next few months, had been included.
Numb as she was, she had no time to dwell on her shock. She needed to find a bed and fast. Ally had no money, she had depended entirely on Nick’s generosity throughout their marriage and every credit card in her wallet was linked to his accounts which meant he had likely cut her off already.
She had no parents to run to and her pride refused to let her call the few friends she had neglected while devoting every waking hour to Nick’s demanding social calendar.
Despite the howling wind from the bay, Ally kept walking until she reached one of the hotels in the neighbourhood.
She produced her credit card and tried to book a room, but just as she’d suspected, one card after another was declined.
She had no choice but to leave the establishment, humiliated and embarrassed.
She walked on autopilot, numb to her surroundings. By the time her mind finally cleared, she realized she had wandered all the way toward the South End.
She realized this was familiar territory and hope flared inside her. With a little luck, maybe she’d find a bed and the mere thought of warmth made her heart beat faster.
Before Nick insisted her time was better spent hosting charity galas, she had spent her Tuesday afternoons volunteering at a women’s shelter in the South End. It was a modest brick refuge, nestled in the shadow of one of Boston’s biggest hospitals but its impact was undeniable.
Shivering violently from the chill, she forced her aching feet to carry her the last few blocks until the red-brick facade came into view. She dragged herself up the steps, the very same steps she used to walk up every Tuesday afternoon as a volunteer, but this time, as a woman in need.
The warm air of the shelter hit her as the door swung open and a familiar volunteer at the front desk gasped, rushing forward as Ally collapsed onto a wooden bench in the entryway.
Thirty minutes later, Ally was seated in a small, partitioned corner of the dormitory, wrapped in a thin, scratchy blanket. She had just finished a warm bowl of soup when she finally broke down.
She sobbed until her chest burned, her tears scalding her freezing cheeks. She felt worthless and at thirty-two years old, Ally had no job, no money, no home and no children to hold.
Every sacrifice she had made had been rendered meaningless in a single evening. She was so embarrassed and the betrayal felt an open wound that bled with every breath she took. She rocked back and forth, clutching her shivering arms, trapped in a nightmare from which she couldn’t wake up.
...
Dr. Ethan Rhodes rubbed his eyes as he pushed through the rear doors of the Good Shepherd General Hospital. His twelve-hour trauma shift had ended thirty minutes ago, but his mind was still buzzing with the adrenaline of late-night ER admissions.
As was his routine after a rough shift, Ethan cut through the courtyard toward the shelter.
He sat on the shelter’s board of directors and often dropped in late to check on supply inventories or offer informal medical triage for the women who were too terrified of hospital bills to seek care down the street.
“Dr. Rhodes!” Sarah, the shelter manager, called out as he shook the frost from his coat in the lobby. “Thank goodness you’re still walking. I know you just clocked out, but could you take a quick look at someone?”
Ethan pulled off his scarf, offering a tired, genuine smile. “Of course, Sarah. Who do we have?”
“One of our regular volunteers. She’s in awful shape. No coat, trembling like a leaf, running a fever and very distraught. I put her in the intake cubicle, but she won’t stop crying long enough to fill out her paperwork.”
Ethan grabbed a stethoscope and a penlight from his bag. “Lead the way.”
He pulled back the navy-blue curtain of the cubicle, expecting to see one of the regulars who frequented the South End streets. Instead, his breath caught in his throat.
Wow, he thought involuntarily. She’s beautiful.
Even with red, swollen eyes and wet hair clinging to her cheeks along with a face pale from shock, the woman sitting on the edge of the cot was striking. She possessed a delicate, refined grace that seemed entirely out of place amidst the beige walls of the shelter.
“Hi there,” Ethan said softly, keeping his voice low and calm as he stepped into the small space. He pulled up a plastic chair and sat down, carefully avoiding any sudden movements.
“I’m Dr. Ethan Rhodes. I work at the hospital across the street. Mind if I take a look at you?”
The woman flinched slightly, wrapping the thin grey blanket tighter around her shoulders. She looked at him with eyes that were filled with raw vulnerability.
“I’m... I’m fine,” she whispered, her voice raspy and broken. “I just need a minute.”
“You’re shivering violently and you’ve caught a nasty chill,” Ethan said gently, pulling out his penlight. “Let me just check your vitals.”
He gently pressed his fingers to her wrist and checked her pulse. Her skin was ice cold and her heart beating fast. He checked her throat and listened to her chest with his stethoscope, noting the slight rasp in her lungs.
“You’re running a fever and dangerously close to hypothermia,” he said, turning to grab a cup of warm water from the tray nearby and handing it to her. “What’s your name?”
She stared into the steam rising from the paper cup, her hands shaking so hard the water sloshed over the rim. “Ally...” she said then stuttered remembering that she was no longer Mrs Sullivan. “Ally Scott.”
“Alright, Ally. Have you eaten anything tonight?”
Ally shook her head, a fresh tear spilling over her lashes. She looked up at him, her gaze so empty it made Ethan’s own chest ache.
“I’ll grab you something from the kitchen.”
“No,” she said. The sharpness in her voice softened instantly into a whisper barely audible over the hum of the shelter’s heating unit. “I don’t have an appetite. I don’t want anything.”
Ethan paused, processing the quiet devastation in her tone. He had treated hundreds of homeless patients, but there was a specific, fresh horror in Ally’s eyes that told him her world had shattered only hours ago.
He didn’t pry. Instead, he pulled out his prescription pad and scribbled a few notes for an antibiotic and a strong decongestant to stop the chill from turning into full-blown pneumonia.
“Ally, you are safe here,” He said, tearing the slip off the pad. “I’m prescribing you something for that fever and infection. The pharmacy down the block is open twenty-four hours. I’ll get one of the volunteers to fetch your prescription.”
Ally looked down at the paper, her smile bitter and hollow. “Thank you, Doctor.”
Before leaving, Ethan pulled a crisp hundred-dollar bill from his wallet, folded it inside the prescription slip, and gently pressed it into her palm.
Ally gasped, pulling her hand back as if it burned her. “No, I... I can’t take that from you. I’m not a charity case.”
“It’s not charity, Ally. It’s a loan. You can pay me back when you’re on your feet.” He placed the paper back in her hand, gently closing her fingers over it. “Right now, you need medicine and a meal. Let me help with that.”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide filled with gratitude. For the first time all night, the panic in her chest receded, replaced by a blooming warmth because of this stranger’s kindness.
Ethan stood up then slung his bag over his shoulder then stepped back toward the curtain, giving her a quiet reassuring nod.
“Get some sleep,” he said softly. “I promise to check in on you tomorrow morning.”