Chapter 2

"Daddy!"

A little boy burst out of the house.

William scooped him up and swung him onto his shoulders.

"Let's go! We're home!"

A sharp ache bloomed in my chest — grief tangled with rage. I wanted to storm over there and confront them both, wanted to see William's face when I asked him why he threw away ten years of marriage.

But the door closed behind them. Faint laughter drifted through it.

I bit down on my lip until it bled. I didn't let myself cry.

For a moment I even thought — maybe if I had never found out, I could have kept living with my eyes closed, happily enough.

But I knew that was impossible.

I drove home in a daze. Our daughter was already asleep.

My phone buzzed — a text from William apologizing for working late, with a $50 transfer.

He spent $300 on premium beef for his mistress. He sent me $50 and fed me beef trimmings.

Tears blurred my screen. I let myself fall apart — sobbing until I could barely breathe — until the grief burned itself out and left me numb.

Then I opened my email.

A message from the company.

"Our new New York office has huge potential. A branch manager position is yours when you get here."

I typed back two words without hesitation: "I'm in."

New York was where I grew up. Going back was nothing but good.

I had given up that promotion before — for William's sake, to keep our family whole. I stayed and did it all: the job, the house, the daughter.

But I didn't need to do that anymore. My daughter and I were leaving together.

I reached out to a college friend who practiced law and asked her to draft divorce papers.

William was meticulous. He had almost certainly been quietly funneling money to Freya for years.

But what was mine, I wasn't leaving behind a single dollar of.

As his legal wife, I had every right to access William's accounts.

His monthly salary: $20,000.

$12,000 went to Freya every month. Another $2,000 for gifts. The remaining $6,000 came to me for household expenses.

I had taken that $6,000, added my own salary, and stretched it across the mortgage, the car payment, utilities, groceries — scrimping so hard I wouldn't let myself buy a new piece of clothing.

Meanwhile, William had transferred nearly $1.16 million to Freya over the years.

Every transfer was labeled "household expenses." Going back eight years, I could see a monthly charge for prenatal checkups.

I hadn't even finished reviewing everything when I heard the front door open.

I saved the records quickly and moved them into a folder labeled "Divorce."

By the time I was done, William was standing in the doorway.

"You're still up?"

"Helping an intern refine a proposal."

He rubbed my temples. On the screen was a revised draft.

"Go to bed. I'll handle the rest."

I reached over and closed the laptop, then looked up at him steadily. "How was the steak?"

The arms around me went rigid. William's breathing faltered.

But he steadied himself quickly. "Jason ordered late-night food and threw in an order for me."

What William didn't know was that I had run into Jason on the way home. No late-night food. No overtime.