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“More like what am I not going to do.” My breath is coming so fast, but at this point it’s only anger. I’m unable to be still. I have to move. The tears come later, bathing his clothes in salt water as I shove them into his suitcases. Crying and cursing, unable to believe he would put me in this position.

I never dreamed I’d feel this way towards Derek. At the same time, dancing at the edges of my memory is the day I discovered his email to Sloan. That day long ago in that horrible mansion when I thought I’d lost my last shred of hope.

“Tell me what you’re going to do,” my friend repeats as we catch the boys and carry them to the car. Both struggle and complain, but I’m too distracted to worry about Dex wanting to stay.

Buckling him in his car seat, I say one word. “Pack.”

Now, a half-day and a nightmare later, my phone is ringing again, and I know Elaine won’t stop until I answer. Forcing my arm to move, I reach into my pocket and pull out the device. Sliding my finger across the face, I hold it to my ear.

“I’m here, Lainey.”

“Melissa?” Her voice is tentative and high. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“Patrick talked to Derek.” She pauses, and my eyes close. Pain twists in my stomach, and I know I’ll start crying again if I have to talk about it. As if knowing this, my best friend doesn’t make me. “I can come over if you need me. Help with Dex?”

“It’s okay. We’ll be okay.”

“Call me if you need me.” She hesitates then continues. “You don’t even have to call. Just send me a text—911.”

“Thanks. I will.”

We disconnect, and I push myself off the bed. I have to make Dex’s supper, bathe him, get him ready for bed. He can sleep with me tonight.

* * *

Mom’s in the kitchen when I open my eyes the next morning. I vaguely recall her coming over last night, having to shove the heavy table I’d moved in front of the door back to its place and unfastening the chain. She’d wanted to talk, but I couldn’t do it. I’d been crying off and on all evening, and I’d only just managed to fall asleep with Dex in my arms. Being outside the tight grip of his daddy’s embrace would take getting used to, but I’d get there. I had to be strong.

Now I hear her talking to our little boy, and I stretch out my hand to Derek’s empty side of the bed. Pain twists in my stomach, and I push my face against the pillow to muffle my cry. It hurts so bad. On my nightstand is the photograph of Derek and me sitting on the beach. His arms are around me, and it’s a painful reminder of what a beautiful liar he is.

Oh, god! I jump from the bed and run to the toilet. I barely make it before I lose what little contents are in my stomach. I collapse on the cool tile floor and weep, holding onto the handle. I don’t know if I can pick up the pieces this time. I’ve been through this with him before, forcing myself to get over him, but that was in the beginning. I’d only had a week. Now it’s worlds different. So much of his life is woven into mine.

Five minutes pass, and I force myself to get up. Scooping handfuls of water into my mouth, I look in the mirror. My eyes are puffy from crying, and I lean forward to hold a cool rag on them. After a few moments, I straighten, pat myself dry, and take my robe off the hook. I can do this. I have to do this.

“I made eggs,” Mom says quietly as I enter the room. Dex is already down and in the living room running his trains all over the lines of the rug.

“Thanks, Mom.” My voice is thick with unshed tears. “I’m sorry about last night. I just... couldn’t.”

“Derek called me. He’s worried... He sounded a little desperate.”

I can’t answer that. I don’t even want to hear that. My insides clench, and I’m fighting the crippling sobs as I go to the coffee machine and drop in a plastic pod. Waiting as my mug fills, I know she’s watching me for some sign. Anything.

“He said you kicked him out?” she nudges.

Taking my coffee to the bar, I don’t look at her as I pour in a dash of creamer. My jaw tenses. Be strong, Melissa.

“Was it another woman?” Her voice strains.

I glance up at her worried face and shake my head. I can’t tell her about Sloan’s murder—I don’t know what I can tell her that won’t get Derek in trouble with the law. So I stick to the facts.

“He lied to me,” I say. “He kept secrets from me and then lied about it.”

Her face scrunches as she tries to understand. “Can you give me an example?”

“I don’t think so. It involves his work.”

Mom exhales and drops into a chair. “Sweetie, I have to say, it must be something incredibly major. I’ve never seen any man love someone as much as Derek loves you. Your father—”