Chapter 1 - THE WIDOW WHO WAS STILL MARRIED
"No one walks away from the Carter family without a fight."
My husband said those words while standing beneath the framed photograph of my father, the man we'd buried two days earlier.
For seven years, I had loved Ethan Carter.
For the past seven months, I had watched him choose another woman.
And now, while my father's funeral flowers were still fresh, Ethan was threatening me because I wanted a divorce.
I looked at the man in front of me.
His dark hair was perfectly styled. His charcoal suit probably cost more than my father's monthly pension. The watch on his wrist was worth enough to pay off a small house.
But I couldn't stop looking at his hands.
Those were the hands that had once held mine through thunderstorms.
The hands that used to pull me closer when I couldn't sleep.
The hands that were now reaching for the divorce papers as though he could simply tear them up and make my decision disappear.
"You're not listening," I said quietly.
Ethan's jaw tightened.
"Claire, you're grieving. You're not thinking clearly."
Something inside me snapped.
"Don't."
He frowned.
"Don't what?"
"Don't use my grief to make me sound incapable of deciding what I want."
His expression changed.
"I didn't say that."
"You implied it."
He looked toward the funeral flowers.
"Your father just died. You need support."
I laughed.
It was a terrible sound.
"Support?"
Ethan stepped closer.
"I can arrange the best grief counselor in Chicago. Whatever you need."
I lifted my bandaged hand.
"Where were you when I needed someone to hold this?"
He stopped.
I continued.
"Where were you when the surgeon told me Dad wasn't going to survive?"
"Claire—"
"Where were you when I had to choose his coffin?"
His face tightened.
"I didn't know."
"Because you weren't here."
"You could have called."
I stared at him.
"Every time I needed my husband, Victoria needed you more."
He looked away.
And that hurt almost as much as everything else.
Even now, he couldn't deny it.
I reached for my handbag.
"I'm staying somewhere else tonight."
Ethan immediately moved toward the doorway.
"You're not leaving like this."
I stopped.
"Move."
"Claire, please."
I looked directly into his eyes.
"If you have to block a doorway to keep your wife, you've already lost her."
Something shifted in his face.
He stepped aside.
I walked past him.
But before I reached the front door, he spoke again.
"Your father's attorney contacted my office this morning."
I froze.
"What?"
Ethan looked confused.
"He said there were documents your father wanted you to receive."
My heart tightened.
"What documents?"
"I don't know. My assistant forwarded the message."
I turned toward him.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because we were arguing."
I stared at him.
My father's last wishes had become another thing Ethan considered less important than controlling our marriage.
I walked outside without answering.
Ten minutes later, my father's attorney, Samuel Brooks, called.
"Claire, I need to see you immediately."
His voice sounded frightened.
"What's wrong?"
A long pause followed.
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
"Your father left a sealed envelope for you. But someone came to my office this morning and tried to claim it."
I gripped the steering wheel.
"Who?"
May you like
Samuel lowered his voice.
"Victoria Hale."
