Chapter 1 — The Woman in the Emerald Dress

My husband brought his mistress into our dining room while I was eight months pregnant, took her hand in front of our children, and announced that she would be moving into our home.

And in the instant he did it, I understood that the entire evening had been designed, carefully, long before either of them crossed the doorway.

My name is Charlotte Palmer.

I had been married to Brandon Palmer for nine years.

Our six-year-old son, Lucas, sat beside me at the long mahogany table, and our four-year-old daughter, Amelia, was earnestly complaining that the chicken on her plate had been cut into pieces that were somehow too square.

Brandon’s mother, Evelyn, was there for dinner, and so was his younger brother, Justin.

Then I heard Brandon coming down the hall, his firm footsteps paired with a second, lighter set of heels.

He came in first, wearing the composed, pleasant expression he normally saved for difficult business meetings.

And beside him was a woman in a bright emerald evening dress that belonged in a cocktail lounge and not at a Wednesday family dinner, and I knew her face, because I had seen photographs of her, because men who become convinced their wives are financially trapped eventually stop being careful.

Her name was Cynthia.

Evelyn’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth.

Justin lowered his bourbon without a sound.

Lucas pressed himself against my side.

And Brandon looked at no one in that room except me, because it was my reaction, and only my reaction, that the whole evening had been staged to produce.

Chapter 2 — The Script

“Charlotte,” Brandon said, his voice flat, “I think we should finally stop pretending everything is normal.” And he took Cynthia’s hand, in front of my children and his mother, and declared that the two of them were together, and that since the guest suite was empty, Cynthia would be staying with us for the foreseeable future.

Amelia looked up from her too-square chicken, tilted her head, and asked, “Is she staying for dinner?” No one answered my daughter.