Stolen Innocence

Chapter 1

CAMILLE'S POINT OF VIEW

Three years. One thousand and ninety-five days of trying to be the perfect wife, and this was my reward divorce papers on our anniversary.

I stared at Stefan's perfect signature on the last page, the ink still fresh. He must have signed them this morning, probably right after I'd left that stupid handmade card on his desk. The one I'd spent hours making, like a fool who still believed in fairy tales.

The anniversary card I made for my husband Stefan still sat on the kitchen counter, untouched. Three years of marriage summed up in a handmade gesture he couldn't even bother to open. I'd spent hours on it last night, writing words I thought mattered.

My coffee had gone cold. Funny how you notice small things when your world is falling apart.

"Sign here. And here." Stefan's voice was distant, businesslike. He'd laid out the divorce papers like contracts at one of his meetings, sticky tabs marking each signature line. "The highlighted sections need initials."

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. "You're doing this today? On our anniversary?"

"Camille." He sighed, that familiar sound of disappointment I'd heard so many times before. "There's no point dragging this out."

The morning sun streamed through our kitchen windows, catching the diamond on my finger. Three carats, princess cut, picked out by his mother. "Not your style, dear, but it's what a Rodriguez wife should wear," she'd said at the time. Like everything else in my life, it had never really been mine.

"Is there someone else?"

The question hung in the air between us. Stefan straightened his tie, Italian silk, the blue one I'd given him for Christmas. "Yes."

One word. That's all it took to erase three years of trying to be perfect.

"How long?"

"Two months." He wouldn't meet my eyes. "She came back to town and..."

"Two months," I repeated. All those late nights at the office. The missed dinners. The way he'd stopped kissing me goodbye in the mornings. "Were you ever going to tell me? Or just keep lying until the papers were ready?"

"I didn't want to hurt you."

A laugh bubbled up, harsh, unfamiliar. "That's thoughtful of you."

My hand knocked against my coffee mug, sending it crashing to the floor. Dark liquid spread across the pristine tiles, staining the grout I'd scrubbed on hands and knees last week because his mother was coming to visit.

"Let me get that..." Stefan reached for the paper towels.

"Don't." My voice cracked. "Just... don't pretend to care now."

I bent to pick up the broken pieces. A photo slipped from between the divorce papers, landing face-up in the spilled coffee.

The world stopped.

I knew that smile. Those eyes. That perfectly poised expression that had haunted every family photo since I was twelve.

"Rose?" My sister's name tasted like poison. "Your first love was Rose?"

Stefan's silence said everything.

Memories hit like punches to the gut. Rose helping me pick out my wedding dress. Rose giving toasts at our engagement party. Rose calling every week to check on my marriage, to give advice about keeping Stefan happy.

My adopted sister. My parents' golden child. The one they'd chosen to love.

"She never left town, did she?" The pieces were falling into place. "She's been here the whole time, waiting. Playing the supportive sister while you both laughed at stupid, naive Camille."

"It wasn't like that." Stefan ran his hands through his hair, that gesture I used to find endearing. "We tried to fight it. But some people are just meant to..."