But it was time to change that, she thought.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

It was the day before Sylvia’s wedding, but Anna had already decided she would not go.

The invitation had been sitting on her dressing table for weeks, and every time she looked at it Anna felt herself wavering.

Sometimes she thought she would go. Sometimes she managed to convince herself she had not been forgotten, that Sylvia had sent the invitation because she genuinely wanted her there, and not out of politeness as Edward had said.

And then, at other times, her confidence would wane and she knew she had sunk too low to face any of her old friends. She could not bear to see the shock on their faces when they saw the wretched creature she had become.

But this morning, seeing the invitation propped up against the mirror, it felt as if it was mocking her. She snatched it up and ripped it into pieces, letting the fragments drift to the ground like confetti around her. How could she possibly go and celebrate someone else’s future happiness when her own was full of nothing but bleak bitterness?

She threw back the curtains. Even the mornings felt as if they were making fun of her now. It was another beautiful June day, the sun already warming the window pane even though it had barely risen. Anna yanked the curtains closed, unable to look at a day so bright and full of promise.

She looked back at the bed. Edward had not come home again. But instead of panic, these days she felt only relief. At least it meant a few hours’ respite from the heavy, dark cloud that seemed to hang over them when he was at home.

Anna dressed quickly. Her clothes felt even looser today, her skirt hanging off her hips. She could hardly bear to look at herself in the mirror because the sight of her sharp bones protruding from under her skin repelled her so much.

The only saving grace was that Edward showed no interest in her anymore.

She went downstairs to light the ovens, out of habit as much as anything else. Keeping to the steady routines of the day was a comfort to her, giving her an anchor to a past when things were less fearful and uncertain.

But as she took down Papa’s battered old tub from the shelf, ready to weigh out flour, the now familiar feeling of dread and shame rolled over her and she remembered what she had done.

She had lost Papa’s business.

Everything he had achieved, everything he had worked so hard for, was all gone. It belonged to Edward now. His name in bold gold letters over the door reminded her that on the rare occasions she dared to venture outside.

It was the insult to Papa that hurt her, even more than her own wounded pride. The knowledge that Edward had never truly loved her, that their marriage had all been part of a plan to further his own ambitions, barely registered compared to knowing that her father’s legacy had been lost.