Chapter 2

Ethan didn’t walk through the front door until eleven that night.

I sat on the living room sofa in pitch darkness.

He flicked the light on and jumped. "What the hell is wrong with you? Creeping around in the dark like a lunatic."

"Answer my question."

"It’s just a favor for a buddy. I fronted his kid’s school fees. He’s going to pay me back."

"Which buddy? What’s his name? What’s his number? Where’s the promissory note?"

"Are you interrogating me now?"

"You spent our family's money! Over sixty grand a year! And you expect me to believe it’s just a favor for a friend?"

He ripped his jacket off, slamming it onto the couch. "What do you want from me, Nora?"

"I want the truth."

"Fine! You want the truth? I had a kid with another woman. Happy now?"

He said it so casually, as if he were just telling me he grabbed a hotdog for lunch.

I thought it was a sick joke.

Words said in the heat of anger.

An ugly jab thrown during a stupid fight.

I stared at his face for five seconds.

His eyes were dead. No shame. No guilt.

It wasn't a joke.

It was real.

"How long?" I whispered.

"Four years."

Four years.

Our daughter was six.

Which meant when my baby was only two, he was already playing daddy to someone else's kid.

"Who is she?"

"You don’t know her."

"I said, who is she?"

"Nora, what does it matter? What are you gonna do, throw our whole life away over this?"

I didn't answer.

I got up, walked straight into the bedroom, and clicked the lock shut.

My daughter, Mia, was fast asleep. She was only six, her hair still in tiny braids, her little hands clutching a worn picture book.

That book had been her birthday present.

Ethan hadn't bought it. I bought it with my own pocket money.

He didn't even remember our daughter's birthday.

I leaned against the foot of the bed, tears pouring down my cheeks.

Not a sound escaped my lips.

I couldn't make a sound. I couldn't wake Mia.

Early the next morning, I dropped Mia off at my mother’s place.

Mom took one look at my face and asked what was wrong.

I told her work was crazy and I had errands to run.

Eight years in this marriage had turned me into a master liar.

Not because I liked lying, but because lies were the only way to hold onto a shred of dignity.

I told my best friends, He treats me so well.

I told my mom, He never mistreats me.

I told Mia, Daddy is just very busy at the office.

Eight years of keeping up appearances.

And my reward was an apartment stolen out from under me, an illegally transferred car, sixty thousand dollars in tuition, and a four-year-old bastard child.

I didn't go back to that house.

I drove straight to the County Land Records Office.

Our investment apartment. My parents had gifted us $100,000 for the down payment, and I paid the $2,000 monthly mortgage for five straight years.

Back then, Ethan claimed putting the deed solely in his name would make tax filings and school zoning paperwork easier for Mia. I had believed him.

His name was the only one on the title.

It didn't matter.

I kept every single bank statement and proof of transfer.

Leaving the records office, I headed to the DMV.

The Mercedes-Benz G-Wagon. It had been my parents' wedding gift to me, titled under my name.

Ethan had driven it for four years, claiming he needed a luxury ride to close deals for his company.

The record pull came back: the title had already been transferred entirely to his name.

I had never signed a single transfer document.

He had forged my signature.

Stepping out of the DMV into the chilly wind, I crouched on the sidewalk and dry-heaved.

A sickening realization hit me like a train:

Over the past eight years, I didn't marry a husband.

I handed myself over to a con man who sold me out while I happily counted the cash for him.