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I don’t understand why I even care. I stared at my reflection with an exasperated sigh, pulling my box braids into a bun.

I picked up the tweezers and started plucking at my brows next.

Pausing for a moment, I studied my features.

The rich brown skin and light brown eyes.

My small nose and full lips that I’d gotten from my mother.

My lash extensions that I loved refilling every couple of weeks because they made me feel prettier and more feminine.

I wondered what it was about me that Cole didn’t think was enough?

Of course I wasn’t the sexiest woman on earth, but I was still attractive.

I didn’t have a killer body, but I kept track of my calorie intake and hardly ever overindulged.

I had nice D-cup breasts and full hips. A great butt—bigger than Eve’s for sure.

So, what was it that steered Cole away completely?

I didn’t think I had a horrible attitude.

I was a generally nice person . . . well, until you got on my bad side.

I compromised with Cole all the time. I gave him what he needed whenever he needed it.

Sure, our marriage was on the rocks, but I never rejected him.

I never told him I was “too tired” or acted like he wasn’t enough for me. He was enough . . . until he wasn’t.

Sighing, I went back to plucking my brows before filling them in with my eyebrow pencil.

As much as I hated to admit it, I thought about Eve every day. I couldn’t help but wonder how she’s holding up. If she cared all that much about what she did. If she regretted it at all.

I think about how carefree she can be sometimes, and I envy that.

I wish I was someone who didn’t care—who let things roll off my back and proceeded to the next best thing.

The sad part is that ever since the situation with Cole and Eve, I couldn’t sleep properly at night anymore.

Usually, I caught a maximum of five hours of sleep and the rest was interrupted.

I’d dream about the slap. The fire. The look of pure shock on his face.

Sometimes, I’d wake up sweating. Panting.

Holding my chest. I would take melatonin, drink tea, even smoke CBD, all of which were temporary aids.

All of this didn’t help because I continued to wake every night, and my mind would go back to that vision of Cole and Eve in the living room.

I couldn’t stop seeing the shock written all over his face and the panic in Eve’s eyes.

And it could have been my mind playing tricks on me, but I didn’t see any regret in Cole’s eyes.

All I saw was complete and utter shock, like he hated that he’d been caught in the act.

I left the bathroom and started the coffeemaker.

As the pot filled, I peered out the kitchen window.

The sun was rising, presenting me with a new day .

. . and I was about to waste it searching for a betrayer of the worst kind.

After pouring a cup, I added creamer, collected my things, and left the apartment.

Once I’d typed in the address for the cottage on Aquilla Lake in Sage Hill, I sent up a prayer and asked God to give me patience and strength. I was going need it if I found Eve wandering around that lake house high off her ass.

Eve Castillo journal entry

I try not to do drugs all the time. I mean, I smoke weed almost every night. But only because it helps me fall asleep. If I don’t smoke, I lie in bed thinking about Ma and Pa.

I think about how they used to lock me in the closet for hours. How they wouldn’t feed me and Zoey for a whole day as punishment. Or worse, how Pa slapped me if I made a simple mistake, like spilling milk (literally) or having a stain on my clothes when I came home from school.

Zoey thinks that made me OCD. I hate messes. I keep all of my things organized. I can’t stand a cup on the counter or a sink full of dishes. It needs to be taken care of immediately or I’ll lose my mind. Trauma does that to a person, I guess.

As far as snorting coke and stuff, it’s sporadic.

I started doing it more with Lincoln. We’d go to his apartment, do a few lines, drink, then fuck.

I swear it was the best sex of my life. Sometimes when I travel, I take a Xanax.

It keeps me calm. But I’m not a druggy. Rose would say that I am, but that’s because she’s Miss Perfect.

Nothing affects her. I’m not an addict and I think that counts for something.

There are people in the world who have succumbed to their bad drug habits.

I haven’t. That’s what sets me apart from the rest. I may be a little fucked up in the head, but no one would ever know it.

I’m good at pretending. Good at pleasing.

I’ve had to be since I was a child. Why would I change that now?