Chapter 1: Rainwater and Revelations

In the fifth year of my marriage to my childhood sweetheart, I finally understood: I wasn’t the heroine—I was the villainous supporting character in someone else’s story.

That realization didn’t strike like lightning. It came slow, steady—like rainwater seeping through the cracks in a brownstone walk-up. The night my husband left me alone in the hospital because another woman called, I hid the fresh pregnancy test results, transferred my assets, left the divorce papers on the kitchen table, and walked out without looking back.

But a month later, Jason showed up by the elevator outside my new apartment—eyes bloodshot, suit wrinkled, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. The elevator lobby was washed in harsh fluorescent light, the chill of the concrete floor seeping through my shoes. His footsteps echoed, sharp and desperate. He cornered me, voice raw. "Emily, you can’t just disappear like that. I’ve been losing my mind. Is this really it for us?" He looked like a man at the end of his rope, begging for one more chance.