Chapter 1 - BEFORE YOU UNPACK
My husband came home with another woman on his arm and told me to leave my own house.
I looked at his suitcase.
“Before you unpack,” I said, “there’s someone I need to call.”
Marco laughed.
The woman laughed with him.
Neither of them noticed that my thumb was already resting over a saved number.
Three years earlier, I had watched him leave for Dubai with a borrowed suitcase and six hundred dollars tucked inside his shoe.
That money came from my emergency savings.
So did the rent he needed the following month.
And the month after that.
“We’re building something, Elena,” he used to tell me.
At twenty-seven, I finally understood what he meant.
I had been building his life.
He had been dismantling mine.
Now he stood in our living room wearing an Italian suit and a watch that could have covered my mortgage payments for a year.
Beside him, a tall woman in a cream designer dress inspected my furniture.
“Is this all original?” she asked.
Marco shrugged.
“We’ll replace most of it.”
I set down the dish towel in my hand.
“Who is she?”
He sighed like I had asked something stupid.
“This is Stella.”
“And why is Stella in my house?”
“Our house,” he corrected. “Although we’ll need to discuss that.”
Stella smiled.
He continued.
“I’m a vice president now. My life is different. I need someone who understands where I’m going.”
“Apparently, you’re going upstairs to replace my furniture.”
“Don’t get bitter.”
The food I had cooked sat untouched on the dining table.
His favorite.
I hated that I had still remembered.
“Stella is pregnant,” he said. “Once our marriage is legally over, we’re getting married.”
She hooked both hands around his arm.
“You should make this easy,” she told me. “You’ve had three years to get used to being alone.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
Knowing about betrayal didn’t make hearing it painless.
Marco nodded toward the stairs.
“Pack a bag. We’re tired.”
I took out my phone.
Stella rolled her eyes.
“Who are you calling? Your mother?”
I pressed the number.
Three rings.
“Suarez.”
“They’re both inside,” I said. “You can come in.”
Marco’s smile disappeared.
A knock struck the front door.
Hard.
“National Bureau of Investigation.”
I stepped aside.
May you like
And the woman who had just told me to leave grabbed my wrist.
“Whatever you think you know,” she whispered, “you don’t know who else is involved.”
