Burning with fever, too weak to even lift my head, I clutched my phone in shaking hands and dialed my husband’s number. “Ryan,” I croaked when he finally picked up. My throat was raw, every word an effort. “Please, I need you to come home. I can’t take care of Lily like this.” I could hear voices in the background, laughter, the clinking of glasses. He was at work. “What’s wrong?” he asked, sounding distracted. “I’m really sick,” I whispered. “I can’t even sit up. Please come home.” He sighed.

Isabel hurried home, her arms full of bags and neatly wrapped gifts, eager to surprise Paul for his birthday. A smile played on her lips as she imagined his reaction. But the moment she stepped inside, something felt off. The house was too quiet. Then, faint voices drifted from upstairs, followed by a soft, feminine laugh. Her heart pounded as she noticed a trail of unfamiliar clothes scattered on the floor. A dress, lacy lingerie—items that did not belong to her. Dread twisted inside her as she climbed the stairs.

Dylan’s world shattered the day his brother, Ethan, passed away. Grief clung to him like a heavy shadow, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t silence the echo of Ethan’s final words. “You only care about yourself, Dylan. You never supported me when I needed you the most,” Ethan had said, his voice weak but filled with the weight of years of disappointment. “But I’m asking you anyway—visit Kyle when I’m gone. He’ll be alone, and I don’t want that for him.” Ethan had been right. Dylan had been