When My Husband Had Me Committed for His Mistress

I found him in his study at midnight.

He was on his laptop. Tie gone. Shirtsleeves rolled up. The blue light from the screen made his face look older than thirty. Harder.

I stood in the doorway. My phone was in my hand. Sierra's post was still open. The crescent moon against her collarbone. The caption that had lived in my chest like a knife for three days.

"Dillon," I said.

He didn't look up. "Not now."

"I need to talk to you."

"Emberly." He kept typing. "I have a seven a.m. call with Singapore. Whatever it is can wait."

"The necklace," I said.

His hands stopped. Just for a second. Then he kept typing.

"What about it?"

"You gave her my necklace."

"It was in a drawer."

"It was mine."

He sighed. Closed the laptop. Looked at me finally. His eyes were flat. Tired. Like I was a problem he'd been trying to solve for too long.

"It was a piece of jewelry you weren't wearing," he said. "Sierra liked it. I gave it to her. That's it."

"You *promised*—"

"Jesus Christ." He stood. Walked to the window. "Do you hear yourself? It's a necklace, Emberly. A thing. It doesn't mean anything."

I stepped into the room. My hands were shaking. "You said the moon was ours. You said you'd never lie to it. I designed that necklace because of what you said—"

"I was sixteen."

"You meant it."

"I was a kid." He turned. His voice was sharp now. Cutting. "And you need to stop living in the past like some kind of—" He stopped. Shook his head. "I don't have time for this."

"And the foundation," I said. My voice cracked. "You sold my parents' foundation."

His jaw tightened. "That was a business decision."

"It was their legacy."

"It was a bleeding liability. We were pouring money into a charity with no ROI, no strategic value—"

"It helped kids—"

"It helped your guilt." He stepped closer. "You've been clinging to that foundation like it could bring them back. It can't. They're dead, Emberly. And the foundation was dead weight."

I stared at him. At this man who used to hold my face in his hands and tell me I was his whole world.

"You didn't even ask me," I whispered.

"I didn't need to. I'm the CEO. I made the call."

"It was mine—"

"It was *ours*. Ortiz Capital owned forty percent. I leveraged it. That's what I do."

"For her," I said. "For Sierra's project. You sold my parents for her."

Dillon's face went cold. "Don't be dramatic."

"You gave her my necklace. You sold my parents' work. You moved her into my home—"

"*My* home," he said. His voice dropped. Quiet. Dangerous. "My name is on the deed. My money paid for it. And I will decide who stays here."

I took a step back. The air felt thin.

"That necklace was your promise," I said. My voice was barely there. "You said you'd never lie to the moon."

He looked at me for a long moment. Then he said the words that ended everything.

"Promises expire, Emberly. Grow up."

I didn't remember leaving the study. I didn't remember walking down the hall. I was just suddenly in the guest room, door closed, back against the wood, sliding down until I hit the floor.

The boy appeared. Sixteen. Hoodie. He knelt in front of me.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

I shook my head. "You're not real."

"I know."

"He's not you anymore."

"I know."

I pulled my knees to my chest. "I don't know what to do."

The boy reached out. His hand hovered over mine. He couldn't touch me. He never could. But he tried anyway.

"You have to leave," he said softly. "Please. You can't stay here."

"I have nowhere to go."

"Anywhere. Anywhere is better than this."

I closed my eyes. "I'm so tired."

"I know."

I didn't leave the guest room after that.

Not the next day. Not the day after.

I heard Dillon leave for work. Heard Sierra's voice in the kitchen. Heard them laugh about something I couldn't make out.

I stopped eating. Food felt impossible. Everything felt impossible.

The boy stayed with me. He sat on the floor. Held my hand in the dark even though his hand wasn't real. Sometimes he said my name. Just my name. Over and over. Like he was trying to keep me tethered to something.

On the second morning, I woke up and he was standing at the foot of the bed.

His face was different. Urgent. Scared.

"Emberly," he said. "You have to leave. Now."

I didn't move.

"Please," he said. His voice cracked. "You have to go. I can't keep reaching you from here."

"Where would I go?"

"I don't know. But you can't stay. Something's coming. Something bad. Please."

I looked at him. At the boy who wasn't real. Who had never been real. Who was just my mind's last desperate attempt to remember what love felt like.

"Okay," I whispered.

I didn't know if I meant it.

But I said it anyway.

Because even a hallucination deserved to be heard.