Chapter 4

"Donald told me everything. Chloe is expecting, and she needs absolute peace and quiet to ensure a healthy pregnancy."

Evelyn arrived at our doorstep early the next morning.

She planted herself in the center of the living room, clutching a string of prayer beads, her expression a mix of pious serenity and icy finality—like a judge reading a death sentence.

"My opinion is that you should take Mia and stay somewhere else for a while. At least until Chloe delivers the baby."

I stood my ground, holding Mia tightly against my hip.

"Evelyn, this is my home."

"Your home?"

Evelyn let out a dry, condescending laugh.

"Amanda, let's be realistic here. Whose name is on the deed? You know better than anyone."

She had no idea the house had already been signed over to Chloe.

Yet she knew all too well that, in their eyes, nothing here had ever belonged to me.

Donald walked out of the master bedroom, his hair damp from the shower, his linen shirt only half-buttoned.

"Mom is right. Chloe's health has been delicate, and these early months are critical. Take Mia to an extended-stay hotel for a bit. I'll cover the bill."

"You'll cover the bill?" I locked eyes with him. "My card is capped at seven dollars a day. Which hotel lets someone stay for seven bucks?"

His face flickered with momentary irritation before smoothing into his usual detachment.

"I'll wire the funds directly to your checking account."

"And what about our daughter?"

"What about her?"

"How does Mia get to preschool? What happens if her fever spikes again? You expect me to pack up our lives and wander from hotel to hotel with zero stability, with a toddler in tow?"

Donald slammed his coffee mug onto the marble counter.

"Why do you make an issue out of literally everything? Chloe is carrying my child and still working every single day! You sit around the house with nothing to do—what right do you have to complain?"

Evelyn chimed in immediately.

"Exactly. Chloe is ambitious, capable, and thoughtful. Look at you—eight years, and what do you have to show for it besides wiping noses?"

I glanced down at my hands. The skin was rough and peeling from industrial dish soap.

Across the back of my right hand was a faded burn scar from hot grease popping last winter. It had never healed cleanly.

"Evelyn, Donald. I have one question for both of you."

"When you tell me to pack up and leave this house, is it temporary... or forever?"

The living room fell dead silent.

Donald broke the tension first.

"You're being hysterical. It's just for a few months."

"And after Chloe gives birth?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

"And what if she gives birth to a boy?"

A muscle twitched violently in Donald's jaw.

The prayer beads in Evelyn's fingers clicked faster and faster.

"We'll deal with that when the time comes. Stop overthinking every little detail. A woman shouldn't worry her head about things she can't control."

I didn't utter another word.

That afternoon, I took Mia out under the pretense of running errands for groceries.

Instead, we took an Uber downtown to the luxury shopping district.

Not to shop. I had no money to spend.

I sat on a velvet bench in the atrium of the high-end mall, waiting.

Mr. Martinez's paralegal had pulled the recent billing cycles for Donald's corporate credit line. Chloe visited this exact luxury galleria every Wednesday afternoon without fail.

At 3:10 PM, I spotted her.

Wearing oversized designer sunglasses and carrying a Chanel tote I had never seen before, Chloe strutted toward the fine jewelry wing.

The moment she pushed through the boutique's glass doors, the sales associate practically rushed to greet her like royalty.

"Mrs. Vance! Did you love the diamond necklace from last week? We just received an exclusive limited-edition piece today. Would you like to view it in the private suite?"

*Mrs. Vance.*

Chloe smiled serenely at the clerk.

"Let's take a look. My husband told me to get whatever catches my eye today."

She reached into her purse, retrieved the sleek black American Express Centurion card, and handed it over.

"Put it on this card."

The associate took it with both hands, nodding obsequiously.

I stood outside the pristine glass window, watching the reflection of the display cases.

She carried my husband's card. She was greeted by my legal title. And while I couldn't afford a twenty-dollar box of fresh berries for our sick daughter, she was lounging on velvet armchairs, browsing diamond pendants.

Seven thousand dollars.

Seven dollars.

She tried on two diamond necklaces and casually pointed to the more extravagant one.

Card swiped. Approved.

She then strolled into the neighboring high-end fashion boutique, picking up a designer trench coat and a pair of Italian leather boots.

Three hours. Four oversized shopping bags.

The money she burned in a single afternoon was more than Donald had allowed me to spend over the entirety of our eight-year marriage.

I held up my phone, discreetly snapping crystal-clear photos from behind a marble pillar.

I captured Chloe handing over the card, the transaction receipts, and the store staff fawning over "Mrs. Vance."

On the ride home, Donald sent a Snap.

*Chloe mentioned she did a little shopping today. The woman has impeccable taste—she knows how to spend money with class. Stop pinching every single penny like a pauper; it's embarrassing.*

*She knows how to spend money with class.*

Staring at those words, an eerie sense of amusement washed over me.

Eight years. It wasn't that I didn't know how to spend money.

It was that he had stripped away my right to spend a single dime.

Beside me, Mia tugged on the hem of my coat.

"Mommy, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, sweetie."

"Then why are you smiling?"

"Because Mommy finally realized something."

Back at the house, I locked the bedroom door behind me and called Mr. Martinez.

"Mr. Martinez, I took clear photos today of Chloe Summers using Donald's Centurion card at the luxury mall. I also recorded the staff addressing her as 'Mrs. Vance.'"

"Can we use this?"

"Absolutely. It directly proves cohabitation, public representation as husband and wife, and the reckless squandering of marital property."

"It's still not enough."

"Tell me what else we need.""I need physical copies of the property deed transfer, the corporate equity pledge agreement, and every single bank slip or wire transfer Donald made to Chloe Summers."

A quiet beat hung on the other end of the line.

"Amanda, do you know where he keeps those documents?"

"I do."

"Inside the safe in his home office. The combination is his mother's birthday."

"Eight years. It never once crossed his mind that I would dare to open that safe."