The 100 Point Divorce Plan

For three years, I documented the slow death of my marriage in a black journal. It was my 100-point divorce plan: for every time my husband, Blake, chose his first love, Ariana, over me, I deducted points. When the score hit zero, I would leave.

The final points vanished the night he left me bleeding out from a car crash. I was eight weeks pregnant with the child we had prayed for.

In the ER, the nurses frantically called him-the star surgeon of the very hospital I was dying in.

"Dr. Santos, we have a Jane Doe, O-negative, bleeding out. She's pregnant, and we're about to lose them both. We need you to authorize an emergency blood transfer."

His voice came over the speaker, cold and impatient.

"I can't. My priority is Miss Whitfield. Do what you can for the patient, but I can't divert anything right now."

He hung up. He condemned his own child to death to ensure his ex-girlfriend had resources on standby after a minor procedure.

Chapter 1

Blake Santos never expected to find the notebook.

He was searching for his favorite platinum cufflinks, a gift from his father, in the back of the shared closet. His fingers brushed against a leather-bound journal tucked away in a shoebox, hidden behind Caroline' s winter boots. It wasn't hers; her journals were always brightly colored, filled with architectural sketches. This one was plain black. Curiosity, a rare emotion for him, took hold. He opened it.

The first page was titled in Caroline' s neat, precise handwriting: The 100-Point Divorce Plan.

Blake frowned. He read the rules written below.

Starting Points: 100.

For every action that proves this marriage is a mistake, points will be deducted.

When the score reaches zero, I will file for divorce. No exceptions.

He let out a short, humorless laugh. A game. It had to be some silly game his wife was playing. He flipped through the pages. Each entry was dated, a meticulous log of his supposed transgressions.

-1 Point: He forgot our anniversary. Again. He was having dinner with Ariana.

-2 Points: He canceled our vacation because Ariana' s dog was sick. He spent the weekend at her apartment.

-1 Point: He called me Ariana by mistake.

-3 Points: He bought the last bottle of a vintage wine I' d been searching for, only to give it to Ariana for her birthday.

The list went on, page after page. A detailed, painful chronicle of his neglect. Blake felt a flicker of annoyance, not guilt. He saw it not as a record of his failures, but as a testament to Caroline' s obsession with his friendship with Ariana Whitfield. Ariana was his first love, the one who had shattered him when she left years ago.

Caroline knew that. He had married Caroline on the rebound, a convenient, stable choice from a good family, a person who could manage the Santos household while he focused on his career and, if he was honest, nursed his broken heart.

He shut the notebook, his annoyance hardening into cold indifference. He tossed it back into the box. A ridiculous, childish list. It meant nothing. He found his cufflinks and shut the closet door, the notebook already fading from his mind. He had more important things to think about. He had a custom-made necklace for Ariana in his briefcase. Her art gallery was having its grand opening, and he needed to be there.

He walked into the living room. Caroline was on the couch, sketching on a large pad, her brow furrowed in concentration. She looked up when he entered, a hopeful light in her eyes that he had long ago stopped noticing.

"You' re home early," she said, her voice soft.

"I have to go out again soon," he replied, loosening his tie. "Ariana' s gallery opening."

The light in her eyes dimmed. "Oh. Right."

He saw the notebook on the coffee table, a different one, one of her sketchbooks. He glanced at an open page. It was a drawing of a nursery, detailed and full of soft light. A crib, a mobile with tiny stars, a rocking chair. He felt a strange pang in his chest, an unfamiliar emotion he couldn't place. They had been trying for a child for over a year.

"Is that for a client?" he asked, his voice flat.

Caroline quickly closed the sketchbook. "Just an idea."

He didn' t press. He didn' t care. His mind was on Ariana. He looked at the clock. He should leave soon. He wanted to be the first one there, to see her face when she saw the necklace.

He stood there, a silent wall between them, when his phone rang. It was his best friend, Mark.

"Blake! Turn on the news! Now!" Mark' s voice was frantic.

Blake grabbed the remote and switched on the television. A live news report filled the screen. A building was engulfed in flames. Thick black smoke billowed into the night sky. The reporter' s voice was urgent.

"Firefighters are on the scene at the new Whitfield Gallery downtown, where a massive fire broke out just an hour before its scheduled grand opening…"

Blake' s blood ran cold.