I watched him scrubbing away and let out a cold laugh.

Guilt.

How disgusting.

I went into the bedroom and locked the door behind me.

I sat on the bed. The mirror across from me reflected a body that looked like it belonged to a ghost.

Seven years ago, my cheeks had been full, my stomach soft. A little chubby, even.

Now there was nothing left but skin stretched over bone, held together by a single stubborn breath.

The moon hung alone in the sky.

I opened the door. Mason was asleep on the couch.

I looked at him, cold and still, while his phone rang and rang on the cushion beside him.

I picked it up. The contact name read: Melody Fox.

Something pulled at me, and before I knew what I was doing, I answered.

"Mason, are you coming home tomorrow? I miss you!"

The woman's voice on the other end was sweet, wheedling.

My fingers went white around the phone. I said nothing. I hung up.

Hatred swallowed me whole.

My gaze drifted to the kitchen knife on the counter, then back to Mason, defenseless and sound asleep.

I clenched my teeth. For a reason I couldn't name, something in my chest ached.

If I didn't love him, we would be nothing but enemies, and I would have killed him without hesitation.

But I loved him. Fifteen years I'd loved him.

I lay down on the bed, exhausted.

As the memories came, thin and slow, I realized that in seven years behind bars, not a single person had visited me besides my mother.

Mason never came. Not once.

Over those seven years, Mason's career had only climbed higher. He had a lover now, and he'd gotten everything he ever wanted. He was a rich man, just as he'd planned.

To Mason, I was probably nothing more than a stain on his otherwise spotless life.

A stain he could never wash out.

Melody. Melody...

I kept my eyes shut, but the name from that caller ID kept floating through my mind.

I still remembered the early days of Mason's business. He was always gone before dawn and back long after dark.

Flirtatious texts on his phone, lipstick smudges on his white dress shirts. None of it was new.

Back then, I'd throw fits. I'd interrogate him, again and again.

Mason would just frown, his face full of impatience.

Looking back, it was laughable. The whole relationship had only ever been one-sided.

I drifted into a fitful sleep.

In the dream, a single warm-yellow candle flickered in a dim room, its flame guttering and swaying.