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CHAPTER ONE

Kassandra

I walked through the front door of my house after a late meeting with a client to find my husband's shoes just inches inside the entryway.

With a frustrated sigh, I kicked them out of the way. It didn't matter how many times I asked him, or how many years we were married, I always walked into the same thing—his shit strewn everywhere while I walked behind him and cleaned it up. He was worse than a toddler.

Today I was tempted to find his ass and kick it.

The client I just met with was indecisive. Normally that wouldn't bother me, but a normal one-hour meeting ended up lasting three hours.

Three fucking hours of wasted time, considering she still didn't make a decision about any of the rooms I was hired to redecorate.

Thankfully, she paid well for my time. Her husband was wealthy and said money was no object. It was a good thing too, since my husband liked to live well outside of our means. I just wished this particular meeting hadn't been today of all days. My feet were killing me and I just wanted to sit down and relax.

I moved through the house and into the kitchen to find both of my sons sitting at the table. Mikey Jr., my almost eighteen-year-old son, had a textbook open and was feverously writing notes in a notebook, while his younger brother by two years sat across from him. He also had a notebook open, but instead of writing, he was tapping the pencil against the paper.

"Hey, boys. Where's your father?"

Any hope that dinner would be waiting when I got home slipped away as I glanced around the rest of the kitchen.

I don't know why I expected any differently. Michael hadn't cooked once in the nineteen years that we’d been married.

"In his office," Mikey answered without looking up from his homework. "He stomped in the door about an hour ago and headed straight into his office without a word."

Of course he did. Because why would my husband acknowledge his two children? I was a little surprised he didn't demand dinner, or to know when I would be home to cook it. A small favor in the grand scheme of things.

"Why don't you order pizza for dinner tonight? It’ll get here faster than it will take me to make something."

I earned two extra hours of work, so we could afford the splurge. If Michael could spend our money on useless shit, then I could take one night off from cooking when all I wanted to do was fall flat on my face in bed.

"Sounds good to me!" Mikey was already pulling his phone out. Neither of the boys ever argued about getting pizza.

"How was your day?" I walked up to Nate and ruffled his slightly curly, dirty-blond hair.

"Not bad." Nate shrugged but didn't look at me. "I got a C on my math test."

I softened my voice for my next question. "Did you try your best?"

Nate struggled with math. No matter how much he studied, he always froze up when it was time to take the test. His teacher knew he attempted to do well and offered plenty of extra credit projects to counteract the poor test scores, but it still upset Nate to see the grade.

"Yeah, I did."

"Then that's all that matters. I'm proud of you."

"Dad's going to flip his lid. He told me anything lower than a B was unacceptable."

My husband was an asshole.

Scratch that. He was an inconsiderate asshole.

Michael didn't give a shit that his son got test anxiety or that Nate tried so damn hard to please him that the added pressure probably made things worse. My husband didn't care about any of that because all he wanted was the perfect family to parade around his friends.

"I'll deal with your father just as soon as I get out of these work clothes," I promised, kissing the top of his head. "Don't worry about a thing."

Nate would worry anyway. It was who he was, and who his father conditioned him to be.

I asked myself for the hundredth time if I was making the right decision by staying with their father, or if I was the one screwing up my kids’ lives. Divorce in my family wasn't an option, I reminded myself as I climbed the stairs to the second floor.

I stepped into the master bedroom and headed straight for my closet. I needed comfy pants and a sweater after the day I had. Screw Michael and his “you need to be guest-ready at every moment of the day” attitude. If someone other than the delivery guy wanted to stop by tonight, they could see me looking less than put together for once in my damn life. I didn't have it in me to care. I would catch shit for it later, but with any luck he would keep himself locked in his office for the rest of the night and I wouldn't have to deal with him.

What kind of marriage did I have that I wished to avoid my husband?

The kind I regretted, unfortunately.

I wish I could blame it on young love and the pressure of my parents, but only half of that was true. I fancied myself in love with Michael in high school, when the truth was I had a crush on his best friend.

His very unavailable best friend.

Michael, David, Madalyn, and I were inseparable. All throughout high school, if you saw one of us, then you found the rest. So when David and Madalyn started dating, it was only natural for Michael and I to start as well. It was fate.

Or so I thought.

But the truth of the matter was I envied my best friend for snatching David up first. He was the perfect gentleman. The man everyone in our class wanted to date. I hated myself for the jealousy I harbored for two people who mattered so much to me.

I should've been happy for them. Instead, I allowed myself to settle into an unhappy relationship. Which led to an unhappy marriage.

My penance, I guess.

With comfy clothes now on my body, and my work clothes in the hamper, I felt marginally better. Not great, but that wouldn't happen until I had a glass of wine and some carbs in my belly. I choked down a measly salad for lunch that did nothing to fill me up. It annoyed me that Michael's little digs about my weight got to me.

I wasn't fat. I knew that. Sure my hips were wider than they had been in high school, but hello, two kids and aging. My boobs were a little saggy, but again, two breastfed kids would do that to a woman. There were just some things that no amount of dieting and exercise could fix. For a woman who was going to be fifty later this year, I thought I looked pretty damn good.

Michael obviously disagreed. Hence the numerous affairs he had outside of our marriage. I should've cared. I should've been outraged that he was cheating on me.

I wasn't though. I was just grateful he no longer expected me to meet his needs. If Michael wanted to spend his free time with some twenty-year-old bimbo, then have at it. I had plenty of toys to satisfy me, though a limited amount of time to use them considering how much I worked.

"Mom, the pizza is here!" Mikey yelled up the stairs. I hadn't realized how much time I spent feeling sorry for myself while getting changed.

Rushing down the stairs, I quickly grabbed my wallet to pay and tip the young delivery driver. I waved him off with a, "Thank you so much!" as Mikey took the steaming hot boxes into the kitchen.

"Your father didn't come out while I was upstairs by chance?"

Both boys shook their heads and I sighed. I was in a no-win situation. Michael would grumble that I bothered him while he was “working,” then he would bitch that I ordered pizza for dinner instead of taking the time to actually cook something.

But if I ignored him altogether, I would hear about it later anyway. God forbid the man was responsible enough to come out to eat when I knew for a damn fact he would've heard Mikey scream up to me that the delivery guy was here. His office was no more than ten feet away from the front door.

"Grab some plates. I'm going to go tell your father dinner is ready."

I walked the short distance to the office and knocked on the door before I convinced myself he could fend for himself. No matter how much I hated my husband, I still tried to be a good wife, if for no other reason than Michael couldn't bitch about me to others. He most likely did anyway, but I could confidently say I tried.

When there was no grumble to come in, I knocked again. Louder this time. I waited a full minute and still nothing. I was tempted to walk away, knowing that I tried, but curiosity got the better of me. Michael never ignored a knock on his office door. Even if he was busy on the phone, he would've opened the door just to give me a stern look.

Twisting the knob, I found the door unlocked. With a gentle push, I poked my head through the opening and froze. My brain couldn't quite comprehend what my eyes were seeing.

Michael hung from the ceiling directly in front of his desk. His neck was bent at an unnatural angle as his feet just dangled midair.

My brain finally caught up as I stepped into the room and slammed the door shut behind me.

Fucking Michael!

There was no way I could let my boys see their father like this. I didn't care about Michael; he was the inconsiderate, selfish asshole who opted to take his life while his sons were in the other room.

No, I was worried about Mikey and Nate. They would blame themselves for not checking on him sooner, for not seeking their father out when he came home, even though to do so would've landed them in trouble for disturbing him.

I looked around the room and cursed. Was it bad that I felt nothing about seeing my husband dead other than relief that I wouldn't have to listen to him complain about my state of dress or my lack of a home-cooked meal?

Probably, but I would worry about that later. It could be the topic of my next therapy session.

I walked straight for the desk, and that was where I found the note. I was careful not to touch anything because I've watched a million episodes of Criminal Minds . I knew all about DNA and fingerprints when it came to evidence.

Kassandra,

I made a mistake. I got too greedy. I thought I was smarter than them and could take their money and then return it before they noticed it was missing. I was wrong. They aren't the type of people who forgive easily. Torture is more their style and I could never handle that. I did the only thing I could think of to make it go away. I hope you understand my decision.

Sincerely,

Michael

I crumbled the note and tossed it down on my husband's desk. Screw evidence.

And just who the fuck was the they he kept mentioning?

With one last look at his dead body, I stormed out of his office and went to do what I always did: protect my sons from their father and his shitty decisions.