30 DAYS

Sarah Mitchell woke up to an empty side of the bed. She stared at the space beside her for a few seconds, her eyes following the faint crease left in the sheets where Michael had slept. He had already left. Again. Sarah slowly sat up, pulling the silk robe around her body as the early morning light spilled through the curtains of their bedroom. Their apartment was beautiful—too beautiful, sometimes. Everything had been carefully chosen. Expensive furniture. Soft lighting. Framed photographs of vacations they had taken together. A perfect home. A perfect marriage. At least, that was what everyone believed. She walked into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Twenty-nine. Successful. Married. Beautiful. She had spent years becoming the woman everyone expected her to be. But lately, she wasn’t sure she recognized herself. Her phone buzzed on the counter. Michael: Running late. Don’t wait for me tonight. Sarah stared at the message. She typed a response. Okay. Then deleted it. She typed again. We need to talk. Deleted that too. Finally, she sent: Alright. One word. It was becoming easier to communicate with her husband in one-word answers. And that frightened her more than she wanted to admit. ⸻ By nine-thirty, Sarah was sitting across from a nervous client in one of the firm’s conference rooms. This was where she felt most like herself. Work didn’t ask her whether she was happy. Work didn’t care whether Michael kissed her goodnight. Work didn’t make her question whether she was still desirable. Here, she knew exactly who she was. “Your argument is strong,” Sarah said, sliding the document across the table. “But the opposing counsel will attack the third clause. We need to address that before the hearing.” The client nodded quickly. Sarah leaned back. “Don’t give them a weakness they can use against you.” The door opened. Richard Hale stepped inside. “That’s my girl.” Sarah smiled. Richard had been one of the first people at the firm to recognize her potential. “Good work.” “Thank you.” He glanced at the documents. “You’re staying late again?” Sarah hesitated. “I have dinner plans.” Richard raised an eyebrow. “With your husband?” “Yes.” “Then don’t cancel.” Sarah smiled politely. “I won’t.” But even as she said it, something inside her doubted that promise. ⸻ She didn’t cancel. Michael did. Again. He sent a message just after six. Michael: Something came up. Can we do tomorrow? Sarah stared at the screen. She had spent the entire afternoon thinking about tonight. She had even stopped by a boutique on her way home and bought a dress she knew Michael liked. She looked down at the shopping bag sitting beside her. For a moment, she felt foolish. Then she called him. He answered after several rings. “Hey.” “Hi.” “What’s up?” Sarah swallowed. “You cancelled dinner.” “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just been a crazy day.” “You said that yesterday.” Silence. Michael sighed. “Sarah, please don’t start.” Her heart sank. “I wasn’t starting anything.” “You sounded like you were.” She closed her eyes. “I just wanted to spend time with you.” “I know.” “No, Michael. I don’t think you do.” Another silence. Then: “I’ll make it up to you.” Sarah laughed quietly. There was no humor in it. “When?” “Tomorrow.” “You said tomorrow yesterday.” “Sarah—” “Forget it.” She ended the call. For several seconds, she simply sat there. Then she looked at the dress. The beautiful dress she had bought for her husband. And suddenly she didn’t want to wear it. ⸻ Michael came home at almost ten. Sarah was sitting in the living room with a glass of wine. “You’re still awake?” She looked at him. “I waited.” He loosened his tie. “You didn’t have to.” “I wanted to.” Michael walked toward her and kissed her forehead. The gesture was familiar. Almost affectionate. But Sarah felt nothing. Or maybe she felt too much. She put her glass down. “Michael.” He stopped. “What?” “Are you happy?” His expression changed. “What kind of question is that?” “A simple one.” “Yes, I’m happy.” “You don’t seem happy.” “I’m tired.” “You’re always tired.” He rubbed his forehead. “Can we not do this tonight?” Sarah stood. “When, then?” “Tomorrow.” She laughed softly. “Of course.” Michael looked at her. “What do you want from me?” The question hit her harder than it should have. Sarah stared at him. “I want my husband.” “You have me.” “No.” Her voice cracked. “I have someone who comes home, eats dinner when he remembers, answers emails while I’m talking, kisses me because it’s part of the routine and sleeps beside me without touching me.” Michael’s jaw tightened. “That’s unfair.” “Is it?” “Yes.” Sarah looked away. She hadn’t intended to cry. She hated crying during arguments. It made her feel weak. “I miss you,” she whispered. Michael’s expression softened. “Sarah…” “I miss us.” He stepped closer. She thought, for one stupid second, that he might finally understand. Instead, he sighed. “We’re adults. Things change.” Sarah looked at him. “That’s your answer?” “What do you want me to say?” “I want you to want me.” The room went silent. Michael looked uncomfortable. And that was when Sarah realized how much she had already said. She grabbed her bag. “Where are you going?” “Out.” “At this hour?” “I need air.” “Sarah.” She turned toward him. “What?” Michael didn’t answer. Neither did she. She walked out. ⸻ The city was alive when Sarah began driving. Lights blurred across her windshield. Cars passed beside her. People laughed outside restaurants. Couples walked hand in hand along the pavement. Everyone seemed to belong somewhere. Sarah didn’t know where she belonged tonight. She drove without a destination. Eventually, she pulled into the parking lot of a luxury hotel downtown. She wasn’t staying there. She just wanted somewhere anonymous. Somewhere nobody knew her. Nobody knew she was Mrs. Mitchell. Nobody knew she was a lawyer. Nobody knew that she had spent the last three years trying to convince herself that her marriage was still enough. She walked into the hotel bar. Soft music played in the background. Sarah ordered a drink. Then another. She sat alone at the counter, staring into her glass. For the first time that night, she allowed herself to breathe. No husband. No arguments. No expectations. Just her. Then she felt it. Someone watching her. Sarah slowly lifted her eyes. Across the room, a man sat alone. Dark suit. Calm expression. A glass resting loosely between his fingers. He wasn’t staring in the careless way men sometimes did. He was simply looking at her. As though he had noticed something nobody else had. Their eyes met. He didn’t look away. Neither did she. Sarah looked down first. Her heart beating slightly faster than it should. A few seconds later, she heard footsteps approach. The man stopped beside her. “Bad night?” Sarah looked up. His voice was low. Calm. Dangerously confident. She almost smiled. “You could say that.” He glanced at the empty seat beside her. “Mind if I make it slightly less boring?” Sarah should have said no. Instead, she moved her glass slightly. “That’s a bold promise.” He smiled. And for the first time that night, Sarah smiled too. She didn’t know his name. She didn’t know what he wanted. And she certainly didn’t know that meeting him would become the beginning of the worst—and most intoxicating—thirty days of her life. His name was Daniel.