My husband s:la:pped me over a trivial mistake—I stayed silent, but by morning I had already made a decision that changed everything between us.

His campaign manager, Lydia Cross, followed him in, laughing too loudly, her heels striking my marble floor like she owned it.

“There she is,” Lydia said, scanning me. “The saint of domestic discipline.”

Victor grinned. “Careful. Elena’s sensitive today.”

I stood in the kitchen, slicing strawberries for a breakfast I had already planned.

Lydia noticed continue reading …