The champagne flute in my hand cost more than my first car. Crystal from somewhere in Europe that Marcus insisted we needed for tonight's celebration. Five years of marriage, and I still couldn't tell the difference between this and the glasses from Target, but I'd learned to smile and nod when he talked about things like thread count and vintage wines. I stood at the edge of our penthouse terrace, watching three hundred guests mingle under strings of Edison bulbs that had cost a fortune to install for just this one night. Manhattan glittered below us like a jewelry box, and I was supposed to feel like the luckiest woman alive. Instead, I felt the weight of the envelope in my clutch purse like a stone. "Elena!" Sophia's voice cut through the ambient music and cocktail chatter. My best friend since college materialized beside me in a red dress that hugged every curve. The same red dress I'd helped her pick out last week, actually. "You look like you're at a funeral instead of your own anniversary party. What's wrong?" I forced a smile, the same one I'd been wearing for months now. "Just overwhelmed. Marcus really outdid himself this time." "He loves you," Sophia said, squeezing my arm. Her perfume—Chanel No. 5, the same one I wore—seemed stronger than usual. "Five years and he still looks at you like you hung the moon." Did he? I couldn't remember the last time Marcus had really looked at me at all. The last time we'd had a conversation that wasn't about his work or his friends or his plans. When had I become just another beautiful accessory in his carefully curated life? "Ladies and gentlemen!" Marcus's voice boomed through the sound system, and my stomach dropped. He was standing on the small stage we'd set up near the bar, microphone in hand, looking like every woman's dream in his custom Tom Ford suit. "If I could have your attention, please!" Sophia grabbed my hand. "Come on, he's going to want you up there." But as we moved through the crowd, I noticed Marcus wasn't looking for me. His eyes were scanning the terrace, but they passed right over me like I was invisible. Like I'd always been invisible. "Five years ago, I made a commitment," Marcus began, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. The crowd quieted, all eyes on him. "A commitment that changed my life in ways I never expected." I was twenty feet from the stage now, close enough to see the emotion on his face. Close enough to see that it wasn't directed at me. "Marriage is supposed to be about honesty, about partnership, about finding your true soulmate." He paused, and I saw his hand tremble slightly. Marcus never trembled. "And I thought I knew what that meant. I thought I understood what love was supposed to feel like." Something cold slithered down my spine. Beside me, Sophia had gone very still. "But sometimes," Marcus continued, his voice dropping to something intimate, something raw, "sometimes you don't realize what you have until it's been there all along. Sometimes the person you're meant to be with has been right in front of you, and you were too blind to see it." The envelope in my purse seemed to burn against my hip. The rejection letter from Dr. Morrison's office. The one that had arrived this morning, on my anniversary, explaining that our scheduled embryo transfer had been canceled. Not rescheduled. Canceled. By patient request. Except I hadn't requested anything. "Marcus, what are you doing?" I heard myself say, but my voice was lost in the murmur of confused guests. "Sophia," Marcus said into the microphone, and my best friend's name echoed across the terrace like a gunshot. "Could you come up here, please?" The crowd parted. I watched, frozen, as Sophia released my hand and walked toward the stage. She moved like she'd been expecting this. Like she'd rehearsed it. "For the past two years," Marcus said as Sophia climbed the stairs to stand beside him, "I've been living a lie. We've been living a lie." Two years. The words hit me like a physical blow. Two years ago was when I'd first brought up having a baby. When I'd started fertility treatments because we'd been trying for a year with no success. When Marcus had held my hand through every appointment, every injection, every disappointing test result. When he'd looked me in the eyes and promised we'd build a family together. "I can't do this anymore," Marcus said, and now he was taking Sophia's hand. "I can't pretend that my marriage is anything more than a mistake I made when I was too young to know better. When I didn't know that real love, true love, was waiting for me." The champagne flute slipped from my fingers. It shattered on the terrace floor, crystal exploding into a thousand pieces, but nobody looked at me. Everyone was staring at Marcus and Sophia, at the way he was looking at her like she was the sun and the moon and every star in the sky. The way he'd never looked at me. "I'm in love with Sophia," Marcus announced to three hundred people. To our friends, our family, our colleagues. "I have been for two years. And I'm done hiding it." Sophia was crying now, pretty tears that somehow didn't smear her makeup. She threw her arms around Marcus's neck, and he kissed her. Right there, on the stage, at my anniversary party, my husband kissed my best friend like I didn't exist. The crowd erupted. Some people gasped. Some applauded—actually applauded, like this was a romantic movie instead of my life imploding. I heard my mother's voice somewhere in the chaos, heard her crying, but I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. My hand found my clutch purse. Found the envelope inside. Two years. He'd been sleeping with Sophia for two years. While I'd been pumping myself full of hormones, enduring painful procedures, blaming my body for our inability to conceive. While I'd been planning this party, buying my own anniversary gift because Marcus said he was too busy with work, smiling and pretending everything was fine. He'd canceled our embryo transfer. Of course he had. Why would he want a baby with me when he was planning a future with her? "Elena." My sister Rachel appeared at my elbow, her face pale with shock. "Elena, we need to get you out of here." But I couldn't leave. Not yet. Because Marcus was looking at me now, finally, and there was something in his eyes that looked almost like pity. "I'm sorry, Elena," he said into the microphone, his voice carrying across the silent terrace. "I never meant to hurt you. But you have to understand—I can't spend the rest of my life with someone I don't love. That wouldn't be fair to either of us." Fair. He was talking about fair. Like he hadn't just destroyed me in front of everyone I knew. Like he hadn't spent two years making me believe I was the problem, that my body was broken, that our marriage was worth saving. I walked toward the stage. My heels crunched on broken crystal, and I felt something warm on my ankle—blood, probably, from the shattered glass—but I didn't care. I climbed the stairs, and Marcus had the decency to look uncomfortable as I approached. "Elena, please don't make a scene," Sophia whispered, and I almost laughed. Almost. Instead, I pulled the envelope from my purse. Held it up so they could both see it. "When were you going to tell me?" My voice was steady, cold. I didn't recognize it as my own. "When were you going to tell me that you canceled our fertility treatment?"