Chapter 2

"Sophia? Everything okay?"

Philip's entire demeanor shifted the moment he answered. Even without seeing the screen, I knew exactly who was calling.

"Give me an hour to wrap things up here... Yeah, I've got it under control," his voice dropped to that intimate tone I hadn't heard in years.

Whatever she said next made his jaw tighten, his eyes going hard as flint.

"Listen to me—I'm handling the Evelyn situation. She's been running her mouth about you to anyone who'll listen. When I find her, she's going to apologize on her knees, or so help me—" He caught himself. "She'll learn real quick that actions have consequences."

"Hey, hey, shh... Don't let her get to you like this. Stay put for now, alright? Chicago's getting messy with this case. Promise me you won't go anywhere without checking in first?"

As I listened to Philip's tender reassurances, something inside me turned to ice. This was my husband—the man who was supposed to know me better than anyone—believing every poisoned word that came out of that woman's mouth.

Those posts didn't exist. That slander never happened. Why couldn't he see that?

"By the way, babe, don't forget about Saturday. I've been working on something special for you," Sophia's voice dripped like honey through the speaker.

Every instinct I had left screamed danger. Philip, don't! Whatever she's planning—it's a trap!

But I was invisible, voiceless, powerless. Philip smiled at his phone like a lovesick fool. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. I'll clear my schedule, I promise."

When he finally hung up, Uncle Joe was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking troubled.

"Need something, Joe? I'm about to do another pass on the vic—see if forensics missed anything."

Joe stepped closer, his voice careful. "Have you talked to Evelyn yet? I've been trying to reach her all morning. Nothing. Not like her to go radio silent like this."

Philip's irritation flared instantly. "Jesus, Joe, not you too. She's pissed at me about something, playing her little games. You know how she gets."

"No, son, I don't think I do." Joe's frown deepened. "Evelyn doesn't play games. She's one of the most straightforward people I know. Something feels off here."

"I've got a dismembered body and a ticking clock, Joe. I can't babysit a grown woman having a meltdown." Philip brushed past him toward the morgue. "She'll surface when she's done being dramatic."

Joe watched him go, shaking his head with the kind of disappointment that cut deeper than any words could.

In the cold fluorescent glare of the morgue, Philip pulled on fresh gloves, his movements mechanical. He approached my body—what was left of it—like it was just another case file.

Then his fingers found my wrist.

For one desperate, impossible moment, I thought this was it. This was when he'd finally see.

That tiny crescent scar on the inside of my wrist. He put it there himself, in a way—our second anniversary, when I'd insisted on making his favorite meal despite never cooking anything more complicated than toast.

I could still feel the burning oil hitting my skin, still hear my own sharp cry of pain. Philip had burst through the kitchen door like the house was on fire.

"Christ, Evelyn!" His hands had been so gentle, cleaning and wrapping the wound with shaking fingers. "You don't have to prove anything to me. I told you I'd take care of you—that's my job. Forever."

The scar had faded to almost nothing over the years. But I'd traced it with my fingertips a thousand times, remembering when "forever" actually meant something.

His phone shattered the moment. Sarah's name flashed across the screen.

"Philip? It's Sarah. Have you heard from Evelyn? We had plans today—she was supposed to meet me at noon. Her phone's going straight to voicemail."

Thinking of Sarah made my chest ache. After losing my parents, she'd been one of the few who didn't disappear from my life.

"She's fine, Sarah," Philip said, already sounding bored. "Probably changed her mind. You know how flaky she's been lately."

"Flaky?" Sarah's voice sharpened. "Philip, I've known Evelyn since college. She doesn't bail without calling. And she definitely doesn't ignore texts. What the hell is going on with you two?"

"Look, I don't have time for relationship counseling right now—"

"She spent six months getting certified in nutritional therapy because you were too stubborn to take care of your ulcer!" Sarah cut him off, anger bleeding through. "That woman built her entire life around you, and you're acting like she's some annoying stranger!"

"That 'woman' has been spreading vicious lies about someone I care about," Philip snapped back. "So forgive me if I'm not falling all over myself to track down her latest tantrum. She wants attention? She can come find me herself."

"You're making a mistake—"

"Goodbye, Sarah."

He ended the call with more force than necessary, muttering under his breath. "Unbelievable. First she poisons my reputation with her bullshit online campaign against Sophia, now she's got her friend playing messenger service."

His anger made him careless. He released my wrist without really looking, yanking off his gloves and turning away.

Just like that. He missed it.

A commotion from the main floor broke through—someone shouting, desperate.

Philip found a man in the lobby, probably mid-twenties, tears streaming down his face while a uniformed officer tried to calm him down.

"Please, you have to help me. My wife—Lisa—she's gone. She didn't come home last night."

Philip's entire energy shifted, going into professional crisis mode. "Sir, I need you to take a breath and walk me through this. When did you last see her?"

The man—Zayne, according to his ID—struggled to steady his voice. "Yesterday around seven PM. She wasn't feeling well, said she was going to the pharmacy two blocks from our apartment for prenatal vitamins. That's it. Just two blocks. She's twelve weeks pregnant, Detective. She wouldn't just... she'd never..."

"I understand. We're going to find her." Philip's hand landed on Zayne's shoulder, firm and reassuring. "Give me everything—what she was wearing, which pharmacy, her phone number, recent photos. We'll get officers canvassing the route right now."

The contrast was a knife twisting in whatever was left of my heart.

One day. Zayne's wife had been missing for one day, and he was falling apart at the seams.

Three days. I'd been gone for three days, and Philip thought I was being petty.

I wanted to scream at the injustice of it. I wanted to shake him until he understood what he'd thrown away. But I was nothing now—just a cold observer to my own tragedy.

I closed my eyes, tried to imagine crying, but found I had no tears left to shed.

My husband Philip—the man who swore to protect me, cherish me, love me until death—was gone.