Chapter 1 - The Thirteenth Night
Daniel’s hand struck my cheek, and I heard myself whisper, “You hit me.”
His mother reached for her wine while Daniel stared at the wedding ring on my finger.
There were thirteen tiny diamonds around the band.
One for every day we had been married.
That was when I understood the marriage had already ended.
For one heartbeat, nobody moved.
My cheek burned.
Not the warm sting of embarrassment. Not the heat that comes when you accidentally touch a hot pan.
This was different.
It was the physical proof that the man I had married thirteen days earlier had decided he could put his hand on me because I had forgotten mashed potatoes.
I stared at Daniel Carter.
He stared back.
We were standing in the formal dining room of his parents’ home, surrounded by crystal glasses, polished silverware, candles, and enough food to feed twenty people.
There were only eight of us.
Daniel’s younger brother, Michael, sat two chairs away.
On his plate were slices of roast beef, glazed carrots, green beans, and a dinner roll.
The empty space where mashed potatoes should have been had apparently become the most important thing in the room.
Michael looked at me.
Then he looked at Daniel.
He didn’t say, You shouldn’t have done that.
He didn’t stand.
He didn’t even look uncomfortable.
He smirked.
That hurt almost as much as the slap.
Daniel’s mother, Margaret, slowly lifted her wineglass.
“Maybe now she’ll learn.”
I turned toward her.
She was smiling.
A tiny, satisfied smile.
Like she had been waiting thirteen days for someone to put me in my place.
My hands stopped shaking.
Something strange happened inside me then.
I became calm.
Completely calm.
Daniel must have mistaken that silence for surrender.
“Emily,” he said, lowering his voice, “just sit down.”
I looked at him.
“Sit down?”
“Don’t make this bigger than it is.”
His father, Richard, stared at his plate.
Daniel’s aunt looked toward the doorway.
His cousin suddenly found the napkin in his lap fascinating.
Nobody wanted to become involved.
That was when I understood something even uglier.
This wasn’t shocking to them.
It was familiar.
Maybe not the slap itself.
But the expectation behind it.
The Carter men spoke.
The Carter women adjusted.
Everyone else pretended not to notice.
Thirteen days earlier, I had stood beside Daniel in a white dress while he promised to honor me.
Now I was standing beside him with his fingerprints burning across my cheek because I had missed a spoonful of potatoes.
“Apologize,” Daniel said.
I actually thought I had misheard him.
“What?”
“To Michael.”
Michael leaned back.
“You did forget my plate.”
I stared at him.
Then I laughed once.
It wasn’t amusement.
It was disbelief escaping my body.
Margaret’s smile vanished.
“This isn’t funny,” she said.
“No,” I replied. “It really isn’t.”
Daniel stepped closer.
“Emily.”
There was a warning in my name.
I had heard that tone before.
Not often.
Not loudly.
But enough.
When I wanted to choose our honeymoon hotel.
Emily.
When I disagreed with him about spending Christmas with both families instead of only his.
Emily.
When I said I didn’t want Margaret choosing the furniture for our new house.
Emily.
Every time, the same message had been hidden inside my name.
Stop.
Give in.
Don’t embarrass me.
Before the wedding, I had called it stress.
Daniel had a demanding job.
His family had strong personalities.
Weddings made everyone emotional.
I had excuses for everything.
Thirteen days of marriage had stripped those excuses away.
Daniel pointed toward my chair.
“Sit down.”
I looked at the table.
At Margaret’s expensive centerpiece.
At Michael’s plate.
At Daniel’s untouched wine.
Then I thought about the woman I had been thirteen days earlier.
She had walked down an aisle believing she was entering a partnership.
I wondered what she would think if she could see me now.
Waiting for permission to defend myself.
I placed both hands on the edge of the table.
Daniel frowned.
“What are you doing?”
I looked directly into his eyes.
Then I pulled.
The first sound was silverware sliding.
The second was Margaret screaming.
I pushed harder.
The massive table tipped toward Daniel’s side.
Plates crashed.
Wine spilled.
Flowers scattered across the floor.
Michael jumped backward.
A bowl of mashed potatoes overturned directly across the front of his expensive shirt.
Under any other circumstances, the irony might have been funny.
Daniel stumbled into his chair as red wine splashed across his midnight-blue jacket.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he shouted.
I stood amid shattered porcelain and fallen flowers.
Nobody spoke.
My cheek still burned.
But for the first time that night, I didn’t feel small.
Daniel came toward me.
I raised one hand.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
Perhaps it was my voice.
Perhaps it was my face.
Or perhaps he finally understood that the woman standing before him was not going to apologize.
I removed my wedding ring.
His eyes dropped immediately to my hand.
“Emily.”
I placed the ring on the overturned edge of the table.
Margaret stood.
“You’re behaving like a lunatic.”
I looked at her.
“No. I’m behaving like someone who finally understands the rules.”
“What rules?”
I turned back to Daniel.
He looked angry now, but underneath the anger was something else.
Fear.
Good.
I stepped closer.
“You slapped me because I forgot potatoes.”
His jaw tightened.
“You embarrassed me in front of my family.”
I almost smiled.
“You did that yourself.”
“Emily, enough.”
“No.”
That single word changed the room.
Daniel had probably never heard me say it like that.
“No,” I repeated. “You wanted to teach me something tonight.”
He stared at me.
“So congratulations.”
I pointed toward the wedding ring.
“You taught me exactly who I married.”
Nobody moved.
I picked up my purse.
Daniel followed me toward the door.
“You walk out now, don’t expect me to come begging.”
I stopped.
I looked over my shoulder.
“That’s the first good news you’ve given me tonight.”
Then I left.
I made it to my car before my hands began shaking.
I locked the doors.
Only then did I cry.
Not because I wanted Daniel back.
Because I finally understood how close I had come to losing myself.
My phone started ringing before I reached the end of the driveway.
Daniel.
I declined it.
Again.
Declined.
Margaret called.
Declined.
Michael sent a message.
You seriously destroyed Mom’s dining room over a misunderstanding?
I stared at the screen.
A misunderstanding.
That was what they were calling it.
I blocked him.
I drove to my best friend Rachel’s apartment.
She opened the door wearing pajamas and holding a coffee mug.
One look at my face changed everything.
“Emily?”
I stepped inside.
She touched my cheek gently.
“Who did this?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
I didn’t have to.
Her expression hardened.
“Daniel?”
I nodded.
Rachel put down the mug.
“I’m calling the police.”
“No.”
“Emily—”
“I need ten minutes.”
She stared at me.
“For what?”
“To think.”
Rachel locked the door.
“You can think. But you’re not going back there tonight.”
“I’m not going back there at all.”
That was the first time I said it aloud.
And once I heard the words, I knew they were true.
Rachel hugged me.
My phone vibrated again.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then a message appeared.
Emily, this is Richard. Daniel’s father. There is something you need to know before you decide what to do tomorrow.
I stared at it.
A second message arrived.
Do not tell Daniel I contacted you.
Then a third.
And this one contained a photograph.
I opened it.
My breathing stopped.
It was a document bearing my name.
At the bottom was a signature that looked exactly like mine.
Except I had never signed it.
Rachel leaned over my shoulder.
“What is that?”
I enlarged the photograph.
At the top were four words.
May you like
POSTNUPTIAL PROPERTY TRANSFER AGREEMENT.
And beneath them was tomorrow’s date.
