PROLOGUE
Eight Years Earlier
Claire
The bouquet brushed against my hip as I walked, its stems tapping lightly against my dress like a heartbeat trying to reassure me. The late-spring breeze stirred the wildflowers, white asters, cornflowers, the violets I’d crouched to gather near the bend of the creek where the soil stayed cool even in July. My hands still smelled like the meadow: sun-warmed earth and crushed stems. I was proud of the arrangement, its unevenness felt honest, like something built with care.
Behind me, Jenny stumbled on the front step, catching the railing with both hands.
“You’re unbelievable,” I laughed, shifting the flowers to one arm. “One glass of rosé and you’re already walking diagonally.”
She lifted her chin, feigning dignity. “I’m delightfully horizontal. It’s different.”
Her clumsy grin pulled a laugh from me, it expanded behind my ribs with painful fondness. For a moment, everything felt suspended in a warm, hopeful glow. It was so close to my wedding. Every detail felt like a promise I’d worked toward.
“It’s a week before my wedding,” I reminded her. “You’re supposed to help keep me calm.”
“I am! If you were tipsy too, you’d stop overthinking your centerpieces.”
“Even if Ethan doesn’t care about flowers, I want him to see them.” My voice softened.
He would tell me they were perfect, like always, even though he didn’t know a thing about them. I found myself looking forward to the familiar tuck of my hair behind my ear, the easy kiss at my temple that always made me smile.
The week had felt like the beginning of everything we had planned, our house, future kids, the steady and quiet life we used to talk about under blankets with the windows cracked open to summer air. That future felt so close I could almost touch it.
My stomach fluttered with the kind of anticipation you felt before opening a door to something good.
I climbed the porch steps. Hand reaching for the doorknob.
It didn’t turn.
My smile faltered. Ethan never locked the door during the day, especially not when he was expecting me. Especially not when I’d said I was bringing something to show him.
“Huh,” I murmured.
Jenny squinted. “Maybe he’s napping. Men nap a lot, like they randomly shut down.”
“He’s not a robot,” I said distractedly, though a faint unease curled low in my stomach, he had been feeling sick. “And he hates naps, it makes him groggy.”
I searched my purse for my key. The metal clicked softly in the lock as it turned.
I pushed the door open.
And something in the air shifted, subtle, but instant. A shirt lay on the ground.
Tossed.
The sight plucked a thread inside me. A small, warning.
Further down the hallway, jeans lay twisted like someone had stepped out of them without thinking. Hurried.
My pulse flickered.
Behind me, Jenny hiccupped uncertainly. “Um… Claire?”
I didn’t answer. The world narrowed to the length of the hallway, to the clothes on the floor, to the wrongness settling into my skin like cold air.
I searched for harmless explanations. Ethan had spilled something. He’d changed in a rush. He….
