Abigail King's POV:

Dane always told me not to worry about Chloe. He said she was just an old friend, nothing more. He said my anxiety was unfounded. He comforted me in so many ways, making me feel like my suspicions were all in my head. And yet here we were, fighting about her again.

"Abigail, you're making a mountain out of a molehill," Dane said coldly. "It was just a joke. Are you looking for an excuse to leave?" His eyes were icy, accusatory.

Our friends looked pale and uncomfortable, trying to step in. "Hey, everyone, calm down," Mark said, stepping forward. "It's just Chloe. That's ancient history, right?"

Sarah, ever the peacemaker, chimed in. "Yeah, Dane barely even sees her. They hardly talk."

But her words rang hollow. Months ago, I'd had a minor surgery, and I'd wanted Dane by my side.

He was supposed to be out of state for a legal deposition. He'd called me from his hotel room, his voice light and distant. "Honey, I'm so sorry. This deposition is taking longer than I expected. I won't make it back for your surgery. I'll call you as soon as I'm done." He'd sounded genuinely apologetic.

I understood. Work was important. I told him it was fine, that I'd be okay.

A coworker signed my surgical consent form. As I was wheeled into the OR, I felt a strange loneliness. When I woke up from anesthesia, the recovery room was bright and smelled of disinfectant. The bed beside me was empty. I swallowed the dryness in my throat, feeling a deep, hollow loneliness.

I pressed the nurse call button. My coworker came by later with flowers and stayed until visiting hours ended.

And now Sarah's innocent words echoed in my head on repeat: "Dane barely even sees her. They hardly talk."

"Oh, really?" Mark frowned. "I thought Dane said he went to a mountain wedding with Chloe a few months ago — her sister's wedding, wasn't it? That same weekend?"

Dane's head snapped toward Mark. "Mark! Shut up!" he snarled, his face flushing red, panic flashing in his eyes.

My eyes went wide. Then a bitter laugh escaped me.

Months ago. The mountains. Chloe's sister's wedding. That was the exact weekend of my surgery. He hadn't been out of state for any deposition. He'd been with Chloe. While I lay alone in a hospital bed, recovering from surgery by myself, he'd been at her side.

Something lodged in my throat. My body went heavy, as if I couldn't move. Exhaustion washed over me like a tide, and I couldn't speak. The pain was too deep, too sharp.

Dane's face went white. He pressed his lips together, desperate to explain. His mouth opened, then closed again.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

I turned and walked stiffly toward the door. My fingers trembled as I reached for the handle. I pulled it open.

Chloe Chavez stood on my doorstep.

Eight years. It had been eight whole years since I'd last seen her face. Her eyes were wide, glistening with tears, and they locked onto mine.

"Abigail," she whispered, her voice cracking. She looked fragile, desperate. "Please, don't be angry. This is all my fault. Dane was just trying to help me." She wrung her hands. "I needed him. I had no one else. I'm so sorry."

The initial shock faded, replaced by a deep, crushing disappointment.

My husband — the man who'd once promised me the world — had put this woman before me when I was at my most vulnerable. It was sickening.

Dane, my "knight in shining armor," had fallen for her act again. He could never resist a helpless, fragile woman. And now Chloe was in tears, looking pleadingly at Dane.

"It's okay, Chloe." Dane rushed over and put his arm around her shoulders. His gaze toward me turned hard and cold. "Don't worry about her. Abigail, you have no right to treat Chloe this way. She's been through enough."

My face went pale. This was like a scene from a terrible soap opera. My husband was comforting the woman who'd betrayed me, while I stood there as if I were invisible. It felt like a slow, agonizing death.

"Abigail, don't blame Chloe," Dane continued firmly. "Blame me. Direct all your anger at me. Just… don't hurt her."

Abigail King's POV:

Chloe peeked cautiously into the living room, her eyes darting quickly between Dane and me.

"I… can I come in, Dane? Abigail's still upset," Chloe whimpered.

Dane didn't even glance at me. He looked directly at Chloe, his expression gentle and reassuring. "Ignore Abigail," he said softly. "Come in. You don't need her permission." He gestured for her to enter.

Our friends watched the whole scene, looking at me with pity in their eyes. Their silent sympathy burned my skin like fire. I didn't need their pity. I just wanted to disappear.

A strange calm settled over me. Without a word, I turned and walked toward the bedroom. I pulled a suitcase down from the top of the closet. I was leaving.

Chloe suddenly rushed over. She grabbed my wrist — her grip surprisingly strong. "Abigail, please, don't do this," she cried, tears streaming down her face again. "Remember our friendship? All those years together? Please, don't throw it all away."

Memories flashed through my mind. Chloe and I growing up next door to each other. Her parents going through a messy divorce when we were teenagers.

My mother had taken Chloe in. She'd slept over at our house more than her own. We shared clothes, food, and secrets. Chloe swore she'd always be my best friend. She said I was the only one who truly understood her. I believed her.

I helped her with homework, tutored her in math, even helped her with college applications. We dreamed of going to the same university together. We were inseparable. We were each other's whole world.

Until Caleb came along.

Her betrayal had made me cry for days. I called her, but she'd already blocked my number. She was gone — my best friend, all of it, gone in one cruel moment.

And now Chloe stood before me, tears on her cheeks, talking about friendship. It was a joke. Those memories, those years — they'd meant nothing to her. And now they meant nothing to me either.

I wrenched my hand away. "Stop pretending, Chloe," I hissed. "Don't act like you care about our friendship. You destroyed it."

Chloe gasped. She stumbled backward and fell to the floor with a cry.

Dane, who'd been watching with a face like a thundercloud, rushed to her side. He knelt down to check on her, then turned and glared at me with fury.

"Abigail! That's enough! Are you happy now? You pushed her!" he roared. "Apologize to her. Right now!"

I stood frozen, staring at him. My husband — who had just comforted the woman who betrayed me — was now demanding I apologize for "pushing" her, even though she'd fallen on purpose. He was demanding I apologize to the woman who'd ruined my youth.

Chloe was still on the floor, looking up at Dane, then at me. Her expression was pitiful. "No, Dane, it's okay. Abigail's just upset. I understand. It's my fault." Her words were poison, deliberately stoking Dane's anger, making me look like the unreasonable aggressor.

I turned back to the bedroom and quickly stuffed clothes and essentials into my suitcase. When I came out again, only Dane and Chloe remained in the living room — our friends had wisely left.

Chloe sat on the couch, her eyes still red-rimmed, but a smug smile played at the corner of her mouth. Dane knelt before her, gently applying ointment to her knee. He stroked her hair, his eyes full of tender concern. He looked like a knight tending to his princess.

"Don't worry, Chloe," he murmured, his voice soft and firm. "I'm here. No one will ever hurt you again. I promise."

Chloe let out a light, triumphant little laugh. She nodded and leaned into his palm.

I dragged my suitcase toward the door. The wheels rumbled across the hardwood floor.

"Abigail, where do you think you're going?" His voice was cold, dismissive. "Stop this. It's childish. Come back."

I didn't look at him. My eyes were fixed on the door. My voice was calm and steady. "Dane, I want a divorce."