The full impact of her actions hit Keeley as she sat in her upper-level epigenetics class, long after Aaron had dropped her off at her apartment. She’d spent the night at her ex-husband's ridiculously large, multimillion-dollar apartment. She was wearing his shirt. Worst of all, she’d been kind to him even after he’d seriously angered her.

She’d accepted his help out of desperation, but she should have insisted he take her home once she felt better. Her head hadn't been right; she’d let her guard down because she was unwell.

She could admit it: a small part of her—the part that once desperately craved Aaron's affection—felt validated by his care. In her feverish state, she'd wanted to savor that feeling a little longer.

Keeley was generally healthy; she'd never had anything worse than a cold during their years together. It wasn't until over two years into their marriage, after a near-fatal ectopic pregnancy, that she faced serious health problems. Afterward, he distanced himself almost immediately upon her return from the hospital.

What was the difference? Why the care and consideration for an old classmate, but not even a fraction of that for his wife, who’d lost their first child and her ability to have more?

It was devastating. Recovering from surgery with a husband who was constantly at work and left her in the care of nurses was bad enough. The lack of emotional support during that time destroyed their marriage. He hadn't been there for her, physically or emotionally.

She had to grapple with never being a mother, alone. The grief consumed her, just as it had when she lost her mother and Kaleb. Not only was most of her family gone, but she wouldn't have a new family either.

For months, she existed in a state of half-life, and where was Aaron during all that time? At work. When he was home, he was withdrawn. She wondered if he didn't know how to cope with his grief, but at the very least, he should have realized his wife needed him.

Keeley had always expected to have children. But once she'd recovered enough from her depression to consider adoption, Aaron refused to even discuss it. They argued—or rather, Keeley argued; he remained silent, ignoring her as if she were invisible.

Later, when Lacy started an affair with him, Keeley understood why he hadn't mourned their child or cared about the future. There was another woman who could give him what he wanted—offspring. After he married Lacy, her child replaced Keeley's lost baby as heir to his empire. Keeley assumed this was why Aaron finally filed for divorce, leaving his "useless, broken, unwanted wife." They had been estranged for years; he'd simply been waiting for the right moment.

She could never forgive him for abandoning her during her greatest crisis since losing her family, and for everything that followed. So why the sudden care when she was sick? Why make her feel like he cared?

Tears welled in her eyes, but she impatiently brushed them away. Crying in class wouldn't help. What was the professor even saying? She should have been paying attention.

Pushing thoughts of Aaron aside, she refocused on the lecture, managing to take some notes. Unfortunately, her concentration problems persisted throughout the day.

"Hey, are you feeling any better?" Erica asked sympathetically as they painstakingly entered data about the rats into the analysis program.

"Yeah, I slept it off after puking for hours. Thanks for covering for me," Keeley said gratefully.

"You would've done the same."

They fell silent, focusing on their work. Double-, triple-, and quadruple-checking the data was crucial. One mistake would invalidate the research. This wasn't the time for distractions.

The repetitive task proved challenging; Keeley's thoughts kept returning to her conflicted feelings. Talking to Aaron as if he hadn't destroyed her life had been a mistake. She needed to remain vigilant around him.

He hated her, or perhaps worse, was completely indifferent. Regardless of his current behavior, his actions wouldn't change.

Wondering what life would have been like if he'd been considerate during their marriage was a pointless exercise, only serving to depress and confuse her. The past was dead. Aaron was untrustworthy. It was that simple.

She repeated this mantra, but her mood remained sour by the end of her shift. She said goodbye to Erica and immediately texted her roommates. She needed a drink, and preferred not to drink alone.

The responses were predictable: 'Sorry, I have to cram for a test.' 'I'm at rehearsal, but otherwise I'd love to.'

She sighed. Only one person might be available. She might as well call him.

"Well, if it isn't Keeley Hall, the doctoral student who never has time anymore," Ryan drawled. "What can I do for you?"

"Are you free right now?"

"I wouldn't have answered if I wasn't."

"Great; I need a drinking buddy. Meet me at the pub on 24th Street in twenty minutes." She hung up before he could respond, knowing he would come.