Emily Carter always believed betrayal would arrive with noise—a lipstick stain, a late-night phone call. Instead, when her Sydney conference wrapped up a day early, she stepped through her South Yarra terrace doorway into the quiet scent of lavender vanilla tea.
It was a tea she had been severely allergic to since childhood. A single sip could trigger anaphylaxis.
On the marble kitchen bench sat two cups, alongside a baby ultrasound scan labeled with her husband's surname—and a first name that wasn't hers.
