Chapter 37

That morning, Cassandra blinked awake to an odd sensation of fullness—and not the kind brought on by an overindulgent breakfast. She sat up in bed, brushing a stray strand of auburn hair from her face, then realized with a shiver that her husband had quite literally eaten her. And yet, as surreal as it sounded, one thought rose clear and bright in her mind: “I think my husband is not gay,” she announced to the quiet bedroom.

The words tumbled out as if they’d been waiting, impatient, on her tongue. Across from her, Zoe—Cassandra’s confidante and self-appointed “Guru”—sat curled in an armchair, hands clasped at her lips. When Cassandra uttered that simple revelation, Zoe’s expression shifted at once from pensive curiosity to triumphant glee. She clapped her hands together so sharply that each clap rang like a gong of victory in the stillness.

“I mean, after what he did to me, I can’t deny it anymore,” Cassandra added, her cheeks warming as the memory washed over her. She