Chapter 4

“Trauma treatment?”

A sharp pain twisted through my chest, but I forced the tears back down.

That night, I barely slept.

Lying awake in the dark, I even tried to blame myself. Maybe I really was just too sensitive because of pregnancy hormones. Maybe I had misheard that phone call. What did an eight-year-old even know about lying?

The next morning, Lyra came downstairs wearing my burgundy La Perla silk pajama set.

I had bought it specially for our eighth anniversary, and I still had not even cut the tag off.

Now it hung loosely on her body.

What made me want to throw up even more was the scent in the air—my Tom Ford perfume. The one Jack had given me for my birthday last year.

“Good morning, Grace.”

Lyra smiled sweetly at me and walked over to the kitchen island like she owned the place. She picked up one of our matching mugs, the one printed with Mr. Right, and poured herself a glass of water.

Jack was standing by the counter making coffee.

When Lyra went over to grab the milk, she “accidentally” brushed the back of her hand against his.

Jack did not pull away.

Instead, he looked down and smiled.

It was the kind of smile only a man deep in the honeymoon phase wore—soft, indulgent, full of affection.

I stood in the shadow of the dining room and watched them, and my stomach turned again.

By the weekend, Lyra had completely started treating the house like it was hers.

At dinner, I sliced my steak slowly and casually said, “Lyra, how’s the apartment search going?”

The second the words left my mouth, Lyra’s fork clattered onto her plate.

Her eyes went red instantly, and big tears splashed onto the back of her hand.

“Grace, do you hate me or something? If that’s how you feel, I can pack up right now and end up on the street—”

“Enough, Grace!”

Jack slammed his napkin down on the table so hard the whole room seemed to shake.

“Not this again. She’s a young woman here by herself. Could you show a little compassion?”

“You always try to kick Lyra out! Is making everyone miserable the only thing that makes you happy? You’re so selfish. And so cruel.”

The air in my chest felt like it had been ripped away all at once.

My husband and my son were standing side by side, using the ugliest words they could find to nail me to the cross, all to protect the woman who had destroyed my family.

I turned toward Lyra, who was sitting in the corner, biting her lip and pretending to be fragile and innocent.

“Get out.”

I pointed toward the front door. Every word tasted like blood.

“Now. Take your trash and get the hell out of my house.”

I marched over and grabbed the hem of Lyra’s shirt as she tried to hide behind Jack.

“Grace, you’re hurting me—”

She let out a high, shrill scream on cue and clung to Jack’s waist like a frightened little rabbit.

“Grace, what the hell is wrong with you?” Jack roared.

He shoved my hand away hard and pulled Lyra behind him, shielding her completely.

The struggle turned chaotic, and we shoved and stumbled all the way from the dining room to the stairs on the second floor.

I stared at those two monsters, ready to tell Jack to let go, when something in the corner of my eye suddenly flew toward me like a mad little bull.

It was Tom.

“Don’t hurt my Lyra!”

I did not even have time to see his face before a brutal impact slammed into my stomach.

Tom had thrown all his weight into me and shoved me straight off the edge of the stairs.

The world dropped out beneath me.

“Bang—!”

The view in front of me turned red.

Right before I lost consciousness, I strained to look up through the narrow space between the wooden banister rails.

At the top of the stairs, Jack was holding Lyra in his arms, comforting her as she trembled on cue.

And my good son Tom was clinging tightly to Lyra’s leg.

The three of them stood there like a perfect family portrait, looking down coldly at me as I thrashed helplessly in a pool of blood.