The front door clicked open around eleven o'clock.

I was on the couch in my favorite silk nightie, pale pink, short enough that it barely covered my ass, scrolling mindlessly through my phone with a glass of wine in my hand. The house smelled like the lavender candle I’d lit earlier, soft and domestic, exactly the way our life had always been.

Safe and predictable.

“Jake?” I called, setting the glass down. “Baby, you’re home early! I thought your flight…..”

The words died in my throat the second he stepped into the living room.

It was Jake… but it wasn’t.

He was taller. Broader. The shoulders that used to fill...