All Chapters of Fifty-Fifty: Mr. Blake, This Is What Fair Looks Like: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Catherine When I finally woke up in the afternoon, I took my bath, went through my closet and found nothing presentable. Most of my clothes were worn out and my shoes (just a pair of worn out heels and old sneakers) were worse. I sighed and angrily threw them out. I finally found a nice gown tucked at the back of the closet. I’d bought it before marriage. It was skimpy and sexy, inappropriate for a married woman, and with my growing belly back then, it had become forgotten, collecting dust. I smiled as I looked at it on my body. It was perfect. I was still hot. Just a little care was needed. Finally dressed up, I walked out of my room.I went shopping. Something I haven't done in years. I stood in front of the skincare shelf for almost five minutes.A twelve-dollar moisturizer suddenly felt extravagant.Six years ago, I wouldn't have thought twice before buying it.Somewhere along the way, I'd convinced myself I wasn't worth twelve dollars.My hands immediately dropped it into

Mason Saturday morning was unnaturally quiet.No tiny feet running down the hallway.No cartoons blaring from the living room.No smell of coffee.I stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the dishes still sitting in the sink.Catherine hadn't come home.Fine.If she wanted to stay away...I'd simply hire someone to do what she refused to."I want every inch of this place scrubbed, sanitized, and restored to exactly how it looked two days ago," I told the agency manager on the phone, not even looking at her as she walked through my front door with a team of four uniform-clad cleaners. "The kitchen, the living room, everything. Do not touch my personal study.""Of course, Mr. Blake. We'll have a full deep-clean finished within three hours," she assured me.I didn't answer. I just tossed my keys onto the freshly wiped marble counter and walked straight to my bedroom, slamming the door. Let professionals handle it. I wasn't going to spend another second breaking my shins over mis

CatherineThe two men standing behind Mason wore matching grey suits, ID badges clipped to their lapels, and expressions of professional indifference."Catherine Blake?" the older of the two asked, holding out his card to me. "I'm Officer Luke from Child Protective Services. This is Officer Reyes. We received a report regarding the potential concealment and neglect of two minor children."I stared at him, my brain stalling. "Concealment?"Before the officer could answer, Mason stepped past me into the narrow entryway, his polished leather shoes loud against the linoleum. He didn't look at me. His eyes swept over the small living room, taking in the frayed couch cushions and the dated wallpaper."I tried to resolve this privately," Mason said, his voice smooth, controlled, and entirely fake. "However, when my wife cut off all communication and removed our children from their home to... 'this' environment, I had no choice but to involve the proper authorities to ensure their safety."A

CatherineMy fingers hovered over the zipper of Mara’s pink backpack for nearly two minutes before I finally pulled it shut.Everything was in place. Two sets of ironed uniforms hung on the closet door. Socks folded neatly and tucked right inside their shoes on the rug. Their blue water bottles were filled and sitting on the bottom shelf of the fridge, right next to the pre-sliced apples wrapped tightly in foil.I sat on the edge of Mara’s bed, smoothing back her hair. Ethan stirred beside her, clutching his faded bear to his chest."Ethan," I whispered, shaking his small shoulder gently until his dark eyes opened, heavy with sleep. "Mara, sweetie, open your eyes for a second."Mara rubbed her nose, squirming under the duvet. "Is it morning, Mom?""Not yet, baby," I said, keeping my voice as soft as velvet. "Listen to me closely, okay? Tomorrow, Mommy won't be here when you wake up. I have to go into work early."Ethan sat up, his brow knotting into a familiar frown. "Is Daddy taking u

Mason By the end of the week, my body was falling apart. Two of my fingers were bandaged from knife cuts just on my second day on duty. By the time I cut myself for the third time that week, I gave up on bandaging them and focused on surviving the week instead. My back ached every time I had to bend down, and the kids weren't making it any easier, either. "Dad, the eggs taste like salt," Mara had complained on Thursday, pushing her plate away. "Mom doesn't burn the bottom of the toast," Ethan had chimed in, staring blankly at the dark crusts. It didn't help that I had to wake up two hours earlier every day to clean up before the kids opened their eyes. I couldn't even sleep in on my days off because I had to make up for time lost on days I was busy with them. I hadn't smiled in a week. My temples throbbed continuously, and I was barely functioning on cold coffee and four hours of broken sleep. Then I finally had enough. On a nice Tuesday afternoon, sitting in a private dining r