Chapter 3

I wasn't ready to call him out yet. I just nodded.

"I'm sleeping in Amy's room tonight."

Before he could answer, I was already headed to our daughter's room.

His touch now made my skin crawl.

People are strange that way — love can turn on a dime.

The day I went to pick up the divorce papers, the school called.

"Please come in as soon as you can. Amy hit a classmate."

I tucked the papers into my bag and rushed over.

In the office, Amy stood with her head down, saying nothing. Freya sat to the side, holding her son.

I crouched down and kept my voice soft. "Amy, I want to hear what happened."

"John said Mom is a homewrecker. A mistress who broke up a family…"

A nine-year-old doesn't fully understand those words. But she could feel the cruelty in them.

"He said those things about you, so I hit him."

The teacher shifted uncomfortably. "Kids don't really know what they're saying…"

Freya looked polished as ever — glossy waves, a full face of makeup. William had kept her well. She was in her thirties but looked ten years younger.

"My son wasn't wrong," she said.

The contempt in her eyes was naked. She didn't bother hiding the provocation.

"You seem to know a lot about my family," I said, with a cold smile.

"Everyone knows Amy's dad never showed up. If you're not the other woman, what are you?"

"Go ahead and call your husband right now — let's settle this face to face." She was certain I couldn't.

"Fine."

I was curious what William's face would look like when he saw us both in the same room.

I dialed. It rang twice and went dead.

The room went quiet. The teacher threw me a look of thinly veiled disdain. "As a parent, you really should be setting a better example."

Freya didn't bother hiding her laugh.

"Other woman, other woman — Amy's mom is the other woman! Amy's the illegitimate kid!"

John clapped along gleefully.

I gripped my phone. This actually made things easier. I didn't need to hold back anymore.

Then Freya calmly called a contact saved as "husband." He picked up immediately.

"Babe, our son's in trouble at school. Can you come?"

"On my way. Give me a minute."

That low, steady voice — I had heard it for ten years. I would know it anywhere.

William arrived fast.

"Freya, is our son okay—"

He saw me the moment he stepped through the door and went completely silent.

"Babe!" Freya crossed the room and pressed herself against him, playing wounded.

"Sia…" He moved his lips. He didn't say anything else.

"Do you two know each other?" the teacher asked, stepping in.

William met my eyes. His flickered. "No. I don't know her."

That hit me somewhere cold. Ten years of marriage. And William's answer was "I don't know her."

He couldn't look at me. He turned to Amy. "Apologize." No room for argument in his tone.

I stepped in front of my daughter. "You're saying I'm the mistress? That Amy is illegitimate?"

He hesitated — just briefly — then looked at me directly. "As a parent, I'd hope you'd have the courage to take responsibility in front of the children."

William's words nailed me in place like a public shaming, while Freya stood beside him looking like she had won.

I had expected this. I still felt the sting.

I called the police.

William, stone-faced, signed the mediation agreement on behalf of the family.

I wasn't surprised. I accepted it calmly.

"William. I want a divorce."

His expression darkened. His tone wasn't kind.

"Freya is a single mom. We're old friends. I was just playing the part of her husband — she doesn't have what you have. As a woman, I'd hope you could be compassionate. If you blow this up and ruin her reputation…"

I watched William's face become a stranger's.

He had thought about it — if I accepted the label of mistress, that shame would follow me for life. It could follow Amy too.

But all he could see was Freya crying, because her own lie had been exposed.

"William, I mean it."

I pulled out the divorce papers. "There's a pen at the police station. Might as well sign while we're here."