Chapter 2

Brian didn't look at me again. He turned on his heel and stormed out, and a few moments later, the sound of his car speeding away echoed from downstairs.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door he had slammed shut, my hands shaking. It wasn't out of fear. It was because I suddenly realized he couldn't even be bothered to invent a lie anymore.

My phone buzzed with a reply from my best friend.

[Good timing. I have something to tell you, too. I think Brian has another family. I was away on a business trip yesterday and saw him at an amusement park with a woman and a little boy.]

Then came a video of Brian holding Olivia and Reginald in his arms, smiling radiantly.

My phone buzzed again.

Esther: [And that boy called him Dad.]

I closed my eyes as a memory suddenly rushed back. On our anniversary three years ago, Brian had come home drunk, weeping in my arms.

"I'm not a good husband," he had sobbed.

My heart had shattered for him then. I assumed he was consumed by guilt and had finally learned to value me. I had held his head against my shoulder, repeating, "You're the best husband. You treat me so well."

Looking back now, that day must have been Olivia's birthday. He had abandoned her on her birthday to spend the anniversary with me, and the guilt had broken him.

His tears had never been shed for me; they were for another woman.

I lay on the bed for a full hour, staring blankly at the ceiling. Once my tears ran dry, a cold clarity washed over me. I picked up my phone and called Esther, my voice eerily calm.

"If I can get solid proof of Brian's infidelity, how much more can I get in a divorce settlement?"

...

I got up early the next morning.

I put the properties under my name on the market with a real estate agent and transferred my trust fund assets into a private, individual account. This money would be my leverage for the future.

Right after leaving the law firm, I passed a preschool and spotted a familiar face. Olivia stood by the gates, elegantly dressed, chatting with the other mothers.

"How come Reginald's dad never comes to pick him up?" one of them asked.

Olivia smiled smoothly. "He's buried in work, but he video-calls Reginald every single day."

Standing across the street, I smiled bitterly.

I had to hand it to Brian. It must be exhausting maintaining daily video calls with his son while playing the doting husband to me, constantly running between two lives.

When I got home, Brian was already there, busy in the kitchen with an apron tied around his waist. Seeing me walk in, he carried a dish out to the dining room.

"Honey, you're finally home. I made sirloin steaks just for you," he enthused.

I sat at the table and watched him place a piece onto my plate. I silently slid my plate away, an action that made him frown.

"I've never liked sirloin steaks," I said flatly. "So, who exactly is this dish for?"

The atmosphere at the table froze instantly. A flash of panic crossed his face, though he quickly forced himself to calm down.

"Honey, what are you talking about?" he grumbled. "I just wanted to try something new for you. If you don't want it, I'll just take it away."

He stood up and carried the dish back into the kitchen. Right then, Olivia's social media feed updated with a new grid post.

The caption read: [He knows I love sirloin steaks, so he made them just for me.]

The photos showed only a man's hand preparing the meal, but I recognized it instantly. It belonged to Brian.

But I didn't make a scene. I simply finished my dinner, washed the dishes, and went upstairs just like any other night.

The next day, after Brian left for work, my phone rang.

A woman's voice came through. "Can we meet?"

Our meeting didn't take place in a coffee shop; Olivia invited me straight to her house.

At the door, Olivia looked me up and down, then finally said, "No need to take off your shoes. Come on in."

She served coffee and sat across from me, her tone airy and unbothered. "I asked you here today because I want to ask you to let our family be together."

I clenched my fists. "Let's get one thing straight. You're the homewrecker here."

She was unfazed. "But the person he loves now is me, and Reginald. He bought this house for me and called it our home."

My fingers tightened until my knuckles went white. I warned, "This house was purchased with marital assets belonging to Brian and me. Are you telling me this so I can sue you and take it back?"

I never imagined a day would come when I would say such words to my husband's mistress. Years ago, for his sake, I had turned down a stable career my parents had arranged for me, moving all alone to this unfamiliar city.

I never expected this would be how it ended.