Chapter 2
His hand was warm on my cheek.
Just like I remembered.
Three years.
Three years of surgeries and pain and learning how to be someone else.
Three years of wondering if I would ever feel his touch again.
If I would ever hear him say my name.
"Elena," he said again, louder this time. Disbelieving. Hopeful. Broken.
I opened my eyes.
Tears were streaming down his face now.
The perfect tuxedo, the composed businessman, the man who had learned to live without me—all of it was gone.
He was just Andrew.
My Andrew.
"How?" he whispered. "I saw you. I buried you."
Vivian pulled hard on his arm.
"Andrew, stop this!" she shrieked. "She's not Elena! She's a fraud! Look at her face!"
Andrew didn't even glance at her.
His eyes were locked on mine.
"I know her eyes," he said quietly. "I would know them anywhere."
He reached for my left hand.
He turned my wrist over, exposing the scar.
His thumb brushed over it gently.
"This happened the night of the fire," he said. "You tried to push a burning beam off Liam. The doctor said you were lucky you didn't lose the hand."
My breath caught.
He remembered.
Of course he remembered.
He had held my hand in the hospital. He had kissed the scar every night while I recovered from the first round of surgeries.
Before Vivian told him I was dead.
Before the empty coffin was lowered into the ground.
"Andrew," Vivian said, her voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. "You're embarrassing yourself. This woman is clearly unstable. She's been studying us. She wants money."
Liam stepped between us and Vivian.
At seven years old, he stood as tall as he could, his little chest puffed out.
"Leave her alone," he said. His voice shook, but his eyes were fierce. "She's my mommy."
Noah scrambled into my lap.
He wrapped his arms around my neck and buried his face in my shoulder.
"My mommy," he mumbled into my uniform.
Vivian's face twisted with rage.
"You little brats," she started.
"Enough."
Andrew's voice was cold.
Final.
He finally looked at Vivian.
And the expression on his face made even me shiver.
There was no love there.
No affection.
Not even familiarity.
Just cold, dawning realization.
"Leave the room," he said.
Vivian stared at him.
"What?"
"You heard me," Andrew said. "Leave. Now. I need to speak to my wife."
The words hung in the air.
My wife.
Vivian's face drained of color.
"Your wife is dead," she whispered. "I am your wife."
Andrew didn't respond.
He just kept looking at her.
And in that look, I saw everything.
Three years of a marriage built on a lie.
Three years of Vivian playing the grieving friend who stepped in to comfort the widower and his motherless boys.
Three years of her manipulating, lying, stealing the life that was supposed to be mine.
Vivian turned and stormed out of the dining room.
We heard her heels clicking up the stairs.
Then a door slammed.
The room was quiet.
Andrew turned back to me.
He dropped to his knees on the floor in front of me.
Noah was still in my lap.
Liam had moved to stand beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder.
Andrew reached for both of my hands.
He held them like they were made of glass.
"Tell me everything," he said.
And so I did.
I told him about the fire.
About waking up in the hospital, confused and in pain, my face wrapped in bandages.
About the nurse who told me my "friend" had made all the arrangements.
About Vivian visiting me once, smiling that cold smile, and telling me Andrew was dead too.
That the boys were dead.
That I had nothing left to go back to.
Andrew's grip on my hands tightened until it almost hurt.
"She told you I was dead?"
I nodded.
I told him about the years of recovery.
The surgeries to fix my face, my hands, my body.
The physical therapy.
The grief of thinking I had lost everything.
Until six months ago.
Until I had seen a magazine at the grocery store.
Andrew on the cover, handsome as ever.
And behind him, just barely in the frame, two little boys.
Liam and Noah.
Alive.
My heart had stopped.
I had fainted right there in the cereal aisle.
When I woke up, everything had changed.
My family was alive.
May you like
Vivian had lied.
And I was going to get them back.
