CHAPTER THREE

How did Daniel even get access to my checkbook?

Forging my signature, I can understand, but the checkbook was hidden, locked inside the vanity drawer where I keep my major documents and only one person has access to that drawer: me. The lock needs keys, and those keys are still safe inside my bag.

The realization hits like a punch to the stomach.

He has a spare key to the house which I gave to him last month. “Just in case of emergencies,” he’d said with those pleading eyes that always made me weak.

God, I am so stupid.

I break into a run.

The wind slaps my face as I dash down the street, barely hearing the city noise around me, I stop a taxi, instead of taking the bus

“please let me be wrong, please let this be a mistake” I pray in my mind.

By the time I reach the apartment, I’m gasping for air. My fingers tremble as I unlock the door and slip quietly inside.

Ella’s light glows faintly through the crack under her door, she’s probably still awake, lost in one of her late-night design projects and music faintly playing through her headphones.

I move quietly, shutting the door softly behind me, I take slow, measured steps down the hallway, trying to calm the panic tightening in my chest.

When I reach my room and flick on the light, the sight before me knocks the breath from my lungs.

Chaos.

The vanity drawer is broken, splintered open as if forced, with papers littering the floor: bank statements, receipts, insurance slips. My jewelry box lies overturned, its contents scattered everywhere an when I reach for it, my stomach twists, my heirloom necklace is gone.

And my checkbook? Gone too.

A sharp pain grips my chest. I stumble forward, dropping to my knees, my shaking hands digging through the mess, hoping, maybe it fell or it’s still here. But it’s useless. Deep down, I already know.

It doesn’t matter anymore.

I should have known when those two strangers came knocking last week as I was leaving for work. Should have guessed Daniel was in trouble again, probably from his gambling.

They looked like trouble from a distance. The taller one had a scar cutting across his jaw while the shorter one wore a worn leather jacket and an expression that said he’d seen too much and cared too little.

“Is Daniel around?” the tall one had asked, his voice calm, too calm.

I’d gripped my bag tightly. “He doesn’t live here.”

They shared a look that made my skin crawl, then the scarred one smiled, a slow smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Tell him we came by.”

That was it. No threats, no names,

Now, standing in the wreckage of my room, the memory makes my stomach twist.

Why did I ever give him that key?

I remember our last argument,his trembling hands as he promised to change, swearing he was done gambling, that he just needed another chance and I’d believed him because I thought love could fix broken people.

“Idiot,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “You complete idiot.”

I grab my phone and dial his number. It rings twice, then goes busy. I try again. Busy. A third time, nothing.

Blocked.

A bitter laugh escapes my throat, hollow and sharp, my hands shake as I stare at his name on the screen, the contact photo smiling back at me, mocking me.

Fine. I’ll report it.

I wipe my face roughly, drag in a deep breath, I start to dial 911, my thumb hovering over the call button. But before it connects, a buzz cuts through the air.

A text.

Unknown number.

My breath catches. I open it.

“Daniel says you have the money he owes us, bring it to Eminent Bar before the end of the week or you lose it all, we’re watching you. Keep the police out of this.”

My vision blurs. My heart slams against my ribs. I read it once, twice, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less terrifying.

But they don’t.

They’re watching me.

A cold sweat breaks across my skin. I move to the window, peering through the blinds into the street

The walls feel smaller, the air thinner. I back away, clutching my phone like a lifeline.

Monday comes faster than expected.

I barely sleep all weekend. My mind spins from the betrayal and then the message, with the thought of what I’ve lost, by the time morning arrives, my eyes burn from exhaustion.

At the office, I go through the motions, forcing myself to focus on routine. I drop my bag, grab Mr. Addams’s coffee, and walk to his desk like always.

He looks up briefly from his laptop. “What’s my schedule for today?”

I open my planner. “Sir—”

My phone buzzes violently in my hand, cutting me off. The name flashing on the screen makes my heart lurch.

Nurse Esther.

That’s my emergency contact line. My pulse quickens.

“Excuse me,” I whisper, stepping aside as I answer.

Her voice trembles through the receiver. “Annabella, your mom’s having cardiac complications, possibly a heart attack. You need to come now.”

The world tilts. For a second, I can’t breathe. Then everything rushes forward in a blur.

I grab my purse and run.

Behind me, Derek’s chair scrapes the floor. “What happened?”

“It’s my mom,” I choke out, eyes stinging. “She’s…she’s crashing.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Let’s go.”

We’re out the door in seconds. The drive to the hospital is a blur of horns and red lights. I can barely think, every breath feels like it’s burning my chest.

When we arrive, the beeping of machines echoes down the hallways,

Nurse Esther meets us by the door, her face pale, eyes wide.

“Your mom needs to be operated on now,” she says urgently. “Or we lose her.”

My breath catches. “But, the payment, I haven’t…

”

Before I can finish, Mr. Addams steps forward, he doesn’t say a word. His face is calm, but his eyes hold something steady, something final.

He follows Nurse Esther down the hall toward the finance office without looking back.

I stand frozen, the world tilting beneath me, unable to move, my knees give out, and I collapse into the nearest chair, the sound of the monitor beeping echoing in my ears.

That moment sealed my fate.

Because from that day on, nothing was ever the same.

Three years later, I am Mrs. Addams.