POV: Isabelle
I'm still staring at the trash can where I left my leg braces when my phone rings.
It's Vanessa.
My finger hovers over the answer button. Every instinct screams at me to throw the phone across the room. But I need to know. I need to hear her voice and understand how I missed this for so long.
"Hello?" My voice sounds normal. Amazing what three years of pretending can teach you.
"Izzy! I'm so sorry I'm late." Vanessa sounds breathless, like she's running. "My car wouldn't start. I'm just leaving now. Still okay if I come over?"
She's not leaving anywhere. She's probably still in my bed, fixing her makeup, erasing evidence.
"Actually, something came up," I say. "Can we reschedule?"
"Oh." She pauses. "Is everything okay? You sound weird."
"I'm fine. Just tired."
"Well, I'm already halfway there. I'll just pop in for a few minutes. I really need to talk to you about something important."
She ends the call before I can argue.
I stand in my apartment—the apartment I've been paying for while pretending to be poor—and make a decision. I won't confront her yet. I'll watch her lie to my face one more time. I'll see exactly how good of an actress my best friend really is.
Twenty minutes later, there's a knock at my door.
I click the leg braces back into place. The sound makes me sick now, but I force myself to limp to the door. One last performance.
Vanessa stands in the hallway, holding two coffee cups and wearing a bright smile. Her hair looks freshly brushed. Her lipstick is perfect.
"There's my girl!" She hugs me, and I smell Adrian's cologne on her skin.
I want to vomit.
"Come in," I say instead.
We sit on the couch—the same couch where I've cried about my marriage while she patted my hand and told me everything would be okay. The same couch she probably sat on with Adrian, laughing about stupid, disabled Isabelle.
"So," Vanessa sighs dramatically, handing me a coffee. "How are you? You look exhausted."
"Adrian left early for work. Didn't sleep well."
"Poor thing." She touches my arm. "It must be so hard, you know? Being alone so much."
There it is. That tone. Like I'm a wounded puppy instead of a person.
"Adrian works hard," I say, defending him out of habit. "His firm is doing really well."
"It is!" Vanessa's eyes light up. "He told me about the new contracts. He's really making something of himself."
He told her. They talk about his work. His dreams. Things he stopped sharing with me months ago.
"When did he tell you that?" I ask carefully.
"Oh, um, we ran into each other at that coffee shop near his office last week. We chatted for a bit." She waves her hand dismissively. "Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something serious."
My heart pounds. Is she about to confess? Does she feel guilty?
"What is it?"
Vanessa sets down her coffee and takes my hand. Her face shifts into concern—the same expression she's used a hundred times before.
"Izzy, I'm worried about you. About your marriage."
I freeze. "What?"
"I just... I see how hard Adrian works. How stressed he is. And I know it's not your fault, but your condition..." She squeezes my hand gently. "It's a lot for him to handle. Most men wouldn't stay."
The words hit like knives. She's actually saying this. To my face.
"Adrian loves me," I whisper.
"Of course he does! But love isn't always enough, honey." Vanessa's voice drips with fake sympathy. "You have to admit, you can't do everything a normal wife can do. The cleaning, the social events, keeping up with his career friends. You're so lucky he stays despite all that."
Despite. The same word Adrian used this morning.
"What are you saying, Vanessa?"
"I'm saying you should appreciate what you have. Maybe try harder. Cook his favorite meals. Don't complain about being tired. Make sure he knows how grateful you are." She smiles sweetly. "Because men like Adrian have options, you know? And you... well, you don't."
Something inside me snaps.
I pull my hand away from hers. "Options? What kind of options?"
"I just mean—"
"Do you think he's cheating on me?" I ask directly.
Vanessa's eyes widen. "What? No! Why would you think that?"
"You just said he has options."
"I meant theoretically!" She laughs, but it sounds forced. "Adrian would never cheat. He's a good guy. That's why you need to hold onto him."
I watch her face carefully. She's good. Really good. If I hadn't heard them together, I'd believe every word.
"You're right," I say finally. "I should be more grateful."
Vanessa relaxes. "Exactly! That's the spirit. You're so lucky to have a friend who tells you the truth, right?"
"So lucky," I repeat.
We talk for another ten minutes. She tells me about a new dress she bought. A restaurant she went to. She asks if she can borrow my cookbook because she's "trying to impress someone."
I wonder if that someone is my husband.
Finally, she stands to leave. "Same time next week?"
"Actually, I might be busy next week."
"Oh?" Her smile tightens. "Nothing serious, I hope?"
"Just some appointments."
"Well, text me if you need anything. You know I'm always here for you." She hugs me again. "What would you do without me?"
The door closes behind her.
I stand there, shaking with rage so pure it makes my vision blur. Then I remember her purse sitting on my couch.
She left her purse.
It's open, and something red is visible inside. I shouldn't look. I should be better than this.
But I reach inside anyway.
I pull out a small red notebook. The kind people use for passwords or important notes. I flip it open, and my blood turns to ice.
It's a diary. Vanessa's diary.
The entries are dated. The first one I see is from two years ago:
"Adrian kissed me today. Finally! I've been working on him for months. He feels guilty about Isabelle, but I told him she's holding him back. Soon he'll realize he deserves someone like me. Someone whole."
My hands shake as I flip through more pages.
"Isabelle cried about Adrian today. She has no idea I'm sleeping with him. She's so pathetic, defending him while he's planning our future together. He says he'll leave her once his firm is more stable."
"The sex is amazing. We do it in their bed whenever she's at her 'doctor appointments.' Adrian says being with me makes him feel free. Like he's finally living the life he deserves."
"Isabelle is my best friend. LOL. She trusts me completely. This is almost too easy."
Page after page of poison. Two years of betrayal written down like a trophy.
I'm about to close the notebook when I see the latest entry, dated yesterday:
"Adrian and I are getting sloppy. I think Isabelle might suspect something. But it doesn't matter anymore. Adrian says he's telling her this week. Finally! Once she's gone, I'll be Mrs. Kane. I'll have everything—the successful husband, the life I deserve. Poor, stupid Isabelle never stood a chance."
The notebook falls from my shaking hands.
That's when I hear it—a key turning in the front door.
Adrian's home. In the middle of the day. Just like yesterday.
And then I hear the voice that makes my heart stop completely.
"Adrian? Did you forget something?"
It's Vanessa.
She came back.
They're both here.
Together.
I grab my phone and dive behind the bedroom door just as they enter the apartment. Through the crack, I watch them kiss in my living room—deep and familiar and disgusting.
"I left my purse," Vanessa whispers. "I'll just grab it—"
"Forget the purse." Adrian pulls her closer. "Isabelle won't be home for hours."
I hold my breath, trapped in my own bedroom, watching my husband and my best friend.
And that's when my phone screen lights up with a text.
From Marcus: "Did you get the papers? I'm ready when you are. Let's bring her home, little sister."
The phone screen is bright. Too bright.
Adrian's head snaps toward the bedroom.
Toward me.
"Did you see that?" he whispers.
"See what?"
"A light. In the bedroom."
Their footsteps move toward my hiding place.
My heart pounds so loud I'm sure they can hear it.
The door starts to open.