After His Mistress Framed Me for Hurting His Niece

The rooftop bar was strung with Edison bulbs and filled with people who smiled too much. I hadn't wanted to come. But staying home meant sitting in the house where Dalton slept like a man without a conscience, and I couldn't do that for one more night.

I wore the black dress. The one that made me look like I had my life together.

Kori was already there when I arrived. She was leaning against the railing in a red slip dress, her hair loose, one hand wrapped around a champagne flute. Dalton stood next to her. His hand wasn't touching her, but it was close. Close enough that everyone could see the space between them and fill it in themselves.

She saw me first. Her face lit up like I'd just made her whole evening.

"Everly!" She pushed off the railing and crossed the terrace with her arms out. "Oh my god, sweetie, I'm so glad you came."

She hugged me. In front of everyone. Her perfume was the floral smell I'd caught on Dalton's collar last week.

I stood very still and let her do it.

When she pulled back, she kept one hand on my arm. Her thumb rubbed a small circle on my wrist like we were close. Like we'd ever been close.

"How are you holding up?" Her voice dropped half an octave, all concern. "With the whole situation. I know it's been hard."

Behind her, Dalton was watching. Not stopping her. Just watching.

I looked at Kori's hand on my wrist. At the smile that didn't reach her eyes. At the way she tilted her head like she was the kind of woman who cared.

"I'm fine," I said.

"Are you sure?" She squeezed. "Because if you ever need to talk—"

I pulled my arm free.

She blinked. Her smile flickered.

I crossed the space between us and slapped her.

The sound cracked across the terrace. Conversations stopped. Heads turned. Kori's hand flew to her cheek, her mouth open, her eyes wide like she couldn't believe I'd just done that in front of people.

I turned to Dalton.

He was staring at me like I'd lost my mind.

I slapped him harder.

His head snapped to the side. Someone gasped. A glass hit the ground and shattered.

For three seconds, nobody moved.

Then Dalton's hand came up to his jaw. His eyes went dark. He stepped past me — stepped around me like I was a piece of furniture — and pulled Kori behind him. His back blocked her completely. His hand cupped her face, tilting it toward the light.

"Are you okay?" His voice was low. Gentle. The voice he used to use on me.

"I'm fine," Kori whispered. She wasn't fine. Her eyes were wet. She was playing it perfectly.

"Let me see."

He turned her face side to side, checking for damage. His thumb brushed her cheekbone. She leaned into it.

I stood three feet away and watched my husband comfort the woman he was fucking.

Nobody looked at me. A few people had their phones out. Someone was definitely filming. I didn't care.

I turned and walked toward the exit.

Behind me, Kori's voice rose just loud enough to carry. "I don't know what I did. I was just trying to be nice—"

I kept walking.

The terrace opened onto a parking area. I stepped off the curb and heard the engine too late.

The car wasn't going fast. Maybe fifteen miles an hour. But it was enough.

The bumper caught my hip and I went down hard. My palms hit asphalt. My knee cracked against concrete. The taste of copper flooded my mouth where I'd bitten my tongue.

The car stopped. The door opened. A man's voice, high and panicked. "Oh my god, I didn't see you, are you okay, I'm so sorry—"

I pushed myself up. My palms were scraped raw, gravel embedded in the skin. My ribs screamed. My knee was torn open, blood running down my shin into my shoe.

I looked back at the terrace.

Dalton was still standing with Kori. His back was still to me. He hadn't moved.

He hadn't even turned around.

A woman in a blue coat knelt beside me. Not someone I knew. Just a stranger who'd seen me fall.

"Can you stand?" she asked.

I nodded. She helped me up. My knee buckled and she caught me.

"I'm calling an ambulance," she said.

"No." My voice came out steady. "Just a cab."

She looked at me like I was insane. Maybe I was. But I wasn't going to bleed on a rooftop terrace while my husband held another woman's face.

The cab came. The woman helped me into the back seat. I didn't get her name.

At home, I stood over the bathroom sink and picked gravel out of my palms with tweezers. The water ran pink. My ribs were already bruising, a dark bloom spreading under my skin. My knee wouldn't stop bleeding.

I wrapped it in gauze. I took four ibuprofen. I sat on the edge of the tub and stared at the tile.

Six days left.