CHAPTER 8

The days passed, but the mark Dominic had left on my neck refused to fade. I had taken to wearing high collars and scarves, but Dominic’s mark stayed, as if unwilling to let go of its claim on me.

Life with my husband, Harold had continued as well, though it had become even more strained. There was an unspoken tension between us, an almost mocking civility, as if he was daring me to say something, to admit I knew the truth of his neglect and his contempt.

Then, one morning, a summons arrived. Harold wanted to see me in his study. I knew what awaited me—after everything that had happened, after years of silence and resentment, there could only be one reason he’d called me there.

For the Divorce.

The thought of it should have brought relief, maybe even a sense of freedom. But as I walked down the long hallway toward his study, I could feel something else stirring inside me, a nervous anticipation that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I opened the door to Harold’s study, expecting to see