Chapter 3: Girls’ Night and a New Resolve

At my best friend Lauren’s apartment, the world felt softer. Lauren’s place smelled like vanilla candles and fresh laundry, a far cry from the sterile, designer-scented air of my own River North condo. My phone kept buzzing on the counter.

“Not answering?” Lauren tilted her head, eyeing me with concern.

I tipped my head back and took a sip of wine. The Cabernet burned my throat with its bitterness and spice. I turned off my phone with a sigh.

I scolded, “What kind of lousy cigarettes did you buy? One drag and I can’t even talk.”

Lauren smirked, fiddling with the cigarette box. “They look cool. That’s all I got.” She waved it in front of my eyes, coaxing me to spill more.

She always had that mischievous glint—the kind of friend who talks you into late-night Taco Bell runs and impromptu road trips to Milwaukee. I didn’t want to hide anything from her; the problem was, there was always doubt gnawing at me.

“Why doesn’t Jake touch me?”

Lauren pursed her lips. “Maybe he’s just… not that into anyone right now? Or maybe he’s just a workaholic robot.”

I shook my head. Back in high school, Jake had dated girls—he’d always been picky, rejecting anyone who threw themselves at him.

A thought surfaced, sharper than I’d like. “Maybe he’s still hung up on my sister. The one who ran off to Europe.”

There’d always been rumors that Jake liked the gentle, quiet oldest daughter of the Miller family. Now that I thought about it, it made sense.

This marriage—I was just the stand-in. My sister was supposed to marry Jake, but she ditched him for her soulmate and ran off abroad with that artist.

Jake was always gentlemanly and polite. In the half year since we married, he never refused my requests—except for that one thing. When he did try to help me, his eyes were cool and distant, as if he was just an outsider watching from afar.

Did he think I was disgusting?

The thought made my head pound. The old hurt rushed back.

With a bang, I slammed my glass down on the table. The sound startled Lauren’s cat, who darted across the kitchen. Cheap wine splashed over my wrist. “I’ve decided.”

Lauren blinked. “Decided what?”

“Divorce.”

Good looks only get you so far. If he can’t show up for me, he can show himself the door. Besides, he’s still hung up on someone else.

I, Rachel Miller, don’t need a man like him.

“All right, all right, stop drinking.” Lauren thought I was drunk and hurriedly dragged me off to shower.

She’d just gotten her nails done and was restless even in her sleep. The next day, I woke up with several red scratch marks on my neck.

When I turned on my phone, countless messages popped up—all from Jake.

Back at the condo, I was surprised to see him home. The air was thick with smoke, and the ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts.

He looked up, his sharp features shadowed. “You’re back?” His voice was hoarse.

His eyes landed on the marks on my neck, pupils narrowing, then dimming.

I hadn’t slept well at Lauren’s, and my throat still burned from the cigarettes. I had no energy to argue.

Just as he was about to speak, I waved my hand. “I was exhausted last night. I’m going upstairs.”

I wasn’t joking—I really intended to divorce Jake. A marriage without intimacy isn’t a happy one.