Chapter 2

Elena's POV

Is this really me?

The same Elena Foster who aced every class at Columbia's architecture program and promised herself she'd design homes that felt like sanctuary? How did I become this?

I close my eyes. Cold water runs down my cheeks.

It's cold, but it doesn't help.

I don't turn on the lights in the living room.

I sit on the couch and wait for Adrian to come home. He always does, once he's sure I've been sufficiently obedient.

Sure enough, around one in the morning, I hear keys in the lock.

Adrian walks in reeking of alcohol and Sophie's perfume. The one I said I liked once, before he told me it was too much for a housewife.

"Sitting in the dark? What's with the drama?" He loosens his tie, clearly annoyed. "Look, Miles was out of line today, but you're his mother. Are you really going to hold a grudge against a seven-year-old? Maybe you should ask yourself why he likes Sophie better."

He pours himself a drink at the bar.

I've been thinking about it for seven years.

Wondering if I wasn't gentle enough, if I didn't take care of the house well enough.

But I forgot something. When the foundation is rotten, nothing you build on top will stand.

"Adrian," I say, steadier than I expected. "Why does Sophie have that sapphire necklace?"

Three years ago, I told him I wanted it for my birthday.

He said it was too flashy. Not right for me.

Turns out it wasn't too flashy. Just too good for me.

Adrian pauses, then turns to face me. "Are we really doing this again? I lent it to Sophie for a client dinner. Can you stop being so insecure? You're living off me. You don't get to question what I do."

He sets his glass down hard.

Living off him.

I let those words sink in. The irony is almost funny.

When we got married, I was the youngest partner at a top architecture firm, making a quarter million a year.

I quit to support his startup. To take care of Miles when he was born.

In his eyes, my sacrifice turned me into a leech.

He scoffs and pulls out a black card, tossing it onto the coffee table. "You want money? Here. Buy yourself something decent to wear. You look like you shop at thrift stores. You're embarrassing me. And tomorrow, you're apologizing to Sophie. You scared her today."

Apologize to the other woman.

The old Elena might have argued with tears in her eyes. Might have swallowed it for Miles.

But looking at that card now, all I feel is disgust.

"What if I don't?" I look up at him.

Adrian freezes for a second, then anger flashes across his face. He crosses the room in a few quick steps. "Get it through your head, Elena. Without me, you can't even survive in this city. If you don't apologize, you won't see Miles again. I'll cancel every card you have. Let's see how long you last."

Money. Miles. The same weapons he always uses.

He's good at this. Like he's training a disobedient pet.

I used to be afraid.

Afraid I couldn't afford Miles's thirty-thousand-dollar-a-year private school tuition. Afraid that if I left, Miles wouldn't have a mother.

But today, after he called me a bad woman and smashed cake in my face, something in me finally broke.

"Adrian." I stand up. I don't touch the card. I don't cry. "You're pathetic."

"What did you just say?" His eyes narrow.

"You think money and our son give you control over me forever?"

When I look at him now, I don't feel love anymore. Just pity.

"You're wrong. The only thing that controlled me was my love for this family. And that's gone now."

Adrian grabs my wrist, hard enough to break bone. "Don't push your luck, Elena. This hard-to-get act is getting old. You have until tomorrow morning. Nine AM, I want you at Sophie's door with an apology. Or you'll regret it."

He leans in close. His breath reeks of whiskey.

He lets go, leaving bruises on my wrist, and storms upstairs.

I rub my wrist and watch him disappear. I feel strangely calm.

I don't need until tomorrow.

I've already decided.

This marriage? This prison? I won't stay another second.

Adrian leaves for the office early the next morning.

I don't apologize to Sophie.

Instead, I head upstairs to the small study I turned into storage. That's where I keep my scale model, the one I named Rebirth. It's the only thing that kept me sane these past seven years.

I spent three months on it. Three months of work, building it piece by piece for next month's AIA design competition.

This was supposed to be my way back. My proof that I'm more than just someone's wife, someone's mother.

I push open the door.

What I find makes my stomach drop.

The room is trashed.