Chapter 3

"She's an administrative assistant at Donald's tech firm. Hired two and a half years ago. She got together with your husband just three months after passing her probationary period."

Mr. Martinez's reply arrived with surgical precision.

I archived the chat log and locked my screen.

Three days later, Mia was discharged.

I brought her home.

Or rather, back to the house that legally no longer belonged to me.

The moment the front door swung open, the scent of unfamiliar designer perfume hit me.

A pair of designer high heels sat by the entryway. Blood-red soles, stiletto heels, pristine without a scuff.

Donald's voice drifted casually from the living room.

"Come on in. Let me introduce you."

His tone was as careless as if he were asking me to grab the mail.

A woman was lounging on the sectional sofa.

Mid-twenties, long sleek hair, a full face of flawless makeup. She wore an expensive cashmere sweater, and on her slender wrist gleamed that familiar jade bracelet.

Under the chandelier, the green stone was blinding.

"This is Chloe Summers, our Director of Operations. She helped close a massive account recently, so I invited her over for dinner."

Donald leaned against the kitchen island sipping an espresso, his eyes glued to his phone the entire time.

Chloe stood up with an easy smile, extending a manicured hand toward me.

"Nice to meet you, Amanda. Donald talks about you all the time."

Her nails were done in a neat French manicure. On her ring finger sat a delicate, understated diamond band.

I recognized it instantly.

It was the engagement ring Donald had proposed to me with. He claimed he lost it during a move years ago.

"Hello," I said, shaking her hand.

Her fingers were cool and smooth, like polished porcelain.

"You must have your hands full," Chloe purred. "Donald says you take care of the kid all by yourself. It can't be easy."

She reached down beside the couch and picked up a glossy boutique shopping bag, offering it to me.

"A little gift for the little one. I heard she was under the weather."

The bag bore the gold emblem of a luxury children's boutique.

Inside was an imported designer outfit. The price tag was deliberately left on: $680.

A single casual gift from her was worth ninety days of my allowance.

"You really shouldn't have."

"How old is she? She's adorable," Chloe cooed, bending down toward Mia.

Mia retreated behind my legs, burying her face into my coat.

Donald's brow furrowed.

"Mia, say hi to Auntie Chloe. Where are your manners?"

"She was just discharged. She's shy around strangers."

"Shy or not, she needs to show respect. Does basic etiquette mean nothing anymore? Who taught her to act like that?"

His gaze turned sharply on me, cold and full of disgust. In his eyes, Mia getting sick was my fault, and her shyness was my failure.

Chloe offered a gracious, practiced laugh.

"Oh, it's totally fine. Kids get shy all the time."

Donald tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter.

"Alright, Amanda, whip up a few dishes. Chloe rarely visits; don't let our guest go hungry."

I carried Mia into the kitchen.

I pulled open the refrigerator door. A few cans of cheap beer, an expired carton of oat milk, and a pack of stale spaghetti.

"There's no food in the fridge."

"Then go down to the market and buy some," he snapped without looking back.

"My card is capped at seven dollars."

He finally tore his eyes away from his phone, sneering with open contempt.

"Bringing that up in front of company? Have some dignity."

He pulled two crisp hundred-dollar bills from his designer wallet and tossed them onto the granite counter.

"Go. Buy something decent."

Two hundred dollars.

Chloe sat back on the sofa, crossing her toned legs and scrolling through her phone, the corner of her lips curving upward.

"Don't go to too much trouble, Amanda. Anything simple is fine. I'm really not picky."

A woman handing out seven-hundred-dollar toddler outfits like party favors, claiming she wasn't picky.

I took the cash, bundled Mia into her stroller, and headed out.

Down at the local discount grocery store, the fluorescent lights flickered over damp linoleum floors.

I bought the bare essentials: poultry, seasonal vegetables, basic pantry staples. One hundred and seventy dollars.

With the remaining thirty, I bought Mia a small plastic container of organic strawberries.

Sitting in the cart, she ate them one by one, finally flashing a faint, genuine smile.

"Mommy, these are sweet."

"Then eat as many as you want, sweetheart."

Back home, I cooked a four-course dinner.

By the time I set the plates on the dining table, Donald was already pouring a vintage cabernet into Chloe's glass. She had brought the bottle herself.

"Here, Chloe, try this," he said warmly, piling roasted meat onto her plate.

When was the last time he had served me food?

I couldn't remember.

"You're a wonderful cook, Amanda," Chloe said after taking a delicate bite, her eyes curving sweetly. "Donald is so lucky to have such a dedicated, traditional homemaker."

Donald took a slow sip of wine and waved his hand dismissively.

"Dedicated, sure. But completely clueless about the world. Look at what she's wearing—same faded sweater from two years ago."

He pointed his fork at my chest.

"You, on the other hand, Chloe—you know how to dress, and you know how to make serious money. The bonus you made on that last deal is enough to buy ten designer bags, right?"

Chloe giggled, playfully nudging his shoulder. "Stop teasing, Donald."

I sat at the far corner of the table, my fork resting untouched on my napkin.

Mia ate in absolute silence beside me, occasionally glancing up at me before looking back down at her plate.

A four-year-old senses far more than adults give her credit for.

After dinner, I cleared the dishes.

While I was standing at the sink washing plates, Mia stepped up onto a wooden stool beside me.

"Mommy, isn't that pretty green bracelet the lady is wearing... yours?"

The porcelain dish nearly slipped from my soapy fingers.

"How do you know about that bracelet, Mia?"

"I remember seeing it in Daddy's desk drawer. He said it was for you."

"And then it disappeared."

I shut off the faucet and stood frozen in front of the sink.

The dark night outside reflected on the greasy water pooling in the basin, mixed with discarded lettuce leaves.

My phone vibrated in my apron pocket.

Mr. Martinez.

"Amanda, I finished digging into Chloe Summers."

"She's no Director of Operations. She's been your husband's kept mistress for two solid years."

"That luxury condo purchased in the East Suburbs last fall? Registered exclusively under her name."

He hesitated for a second.

"There's one more thing."

"What is it?"

"She's four months pregnant."