Chapter Three
The next morning, I drove home alone.
Noah was still in the hospital. I told them I'd come back for some things — but really, I just wanted to be by myself, and to pack the bags that would take me away.
I'd made up my mind to accept the program, and to lay everything on the table and file for divorce tonight.
The house felt empty and quiet.
I rubbed my temples wearily and headed straight to the master bedroom for clothes.
As I reached the bed, my gaze drifted without thinking to the pure black silk pillowcase.
There, lying perfectly still, was a strand of golden-brown, wavy hair.
I wear my black hair at shoulder length. Our housekeeper is a brisk lady with a short crop. So whose long hair was this?
Something clicked in my head, and my breath caught hard. My hands started shaking beyond my control.
I picked up the pillow to get a better look at that gold-brown curl — and the next second, my eyes were caught by what lay underneath it.
A pair of half-transparent black lace panties.
"Hurk—"
A violent surge of nausea shot up my throat.
So last night… they'd been here? In this house?
In the bed I sleep in every night?!
Last night I was in the Mount Sinai ER, awake the entire night taking care of my son and trying to make sense of my husband's possible affair.
And my husband had brought his mistress into our seven-year marriage bed for a thrill.
Disgusting.
Disgust wrapped itself around my throat like a venomous snake, and I couldn't breathe.
I staggered to my feet and fled the master bedroom that was suffocating me. Only out in the hall could I breathe again. I hurried to the bathroom to splash water on my face.
But passing the study, I caught sight of the computer on the desk — not powered down.
In the corner of the screen, a messaging app icon was bouncing.
That was the account Ethan used for personal business. He must have left it open in his rush this morning.
As if possessed, I walked over and clicked the icon.
The chat window sprang open.
It was a mirror selfie — a woman in extremely revealing lace lingerie.
She had an impressive figure. And the background was my master bathroom.
[Maya: My darling, why aren't you in the bathroom washing me yet?]
BOOM.
My skull rang.
The timestamp on that message was exactly last night — when the two of them had been in this house.
Numb and freezing, my fingers stiff, I scrolled up through their earlier messages.
[Maya: Sweetheart, are you done performing at the ER? Take me back to your marital home tonight, okay? I want to be in that woman's bed and hear you say my name.]
[Ethan: You wildcat. You get bolder by the day.]
[I'll be right there!]
...
[Maya: It felt so good doing it with you yesterday. But do you still have the strength to handle your wife tonight?]
[Ethan: Don't even mention that block of wood. She's a dead fish in bed, boring as hell. Nothing like how sexy you are.]
...
[Maya: Darling, hurry up and dump that boring old hag~ Watching her go bare-faced every day, dressed like a cleaning lady, it turns my stomach for you.]
[Ethan: Keeping her around has its uses, obviously. She's bland as boiled water, but she takes care of Noah for free and she's good at it. Throw a little money at her, buy her a cheap little gift, and I've got a nanny who'll pay out of pocket to be my twenty-four-hour maid for the rest of her life. Tell me that's not a bargain.]
Every line on the screen was a rusted saw blade, drawn inch by inch through the last of my sanity and my heart, shredding both.
Staring at those words, my tears finally broke the dam. My heart felt like it had been crushed in a fist. I could barely stand.
Seven years. I had given him the best of my youth, all of my love, all of my trust.
I thought we were each other's only one. In his eyes, I was a free nanny.
And in that moment, my heart died — completely and for good.
"Come home with Noah tonight. There's something I need to tell you."
With the last shred of my reason, I sent Ethan that message. Then I collapsed.
Toward evening.
The door lock turned.
"Bella, we're home!"
Ethan came through the door with Noah, freshly picked up from the hospital.
He was barely inside before he made straight for the master bedroom and shut the door with a bang.
I knew what he was doing in there.
Covering up the evidence of last night.
A few minutes later, the master bedroom door opened again.
This time, the guilt was gone from Ethan's face, replaced by relief.
From behind his back he produced an exquisite gift box and a small cake, stepped up to me, and sank down on one knee with a look of profound devotion.
"Darling, I'm sorry." He gently took my cold hand, his voice earnest. "With Noah in the hospital these past days, our seventh anniversary slipped right past us. So I went out specially and bought you your favorite black forest cake, and this silk scarf… I love you, Bella."
"That's right, Mommy!" Noah chimed in, trotting over with the most obedient little smile on his face. "Daddy loves you the most! Quick, make a wish and blow out the candle!"
I looked at this deeply devoted husband, and at the face of my son — so young, and already so practiced at covering for his father.
My whole body felt cold enough to have fallen into an icehouse.
"Is that so?" I said softly, my voice so hoarse it didn't sound like mine. Tears slid down my cheeks.
Ethan thought I was crying from being moved. He smiled and leaned in to kiss my lips.
I flinched as if electrocuted and turned my head away, dodging the contact.
"What's wrong, Bella?" He froze.
Let's get a divorce, I was about to say.
"Bzzz, bzzz—"
The phone in his pocket suddenly rang — a particular, piercing, custom ringtone.
Ethan glanced at the screen, and his eyes changed instantly.
He shoved the phone back into his pocket fast, and the look of devotion on his face switched seamlessly into one of a man drowning in obligations.
"Sorry, darling…" He stood up quickly, reaching for the jacket he'd only just taken off. "Something's blown up at the studio. A top sponsor is threatening to pull out, and the boss says I need to be there right now. I probably won't be able to stay with you tonight."
And with that, he grabbed his bag and hurried out of the house — without even giving me a chance to speak.
"Mommy!" Noah piped up, right on cue. "On the way home, Daddy got a call from his boss about urgent company stuff. Daddy works so hard."
I stared hard at the son I had carried for ten months and raised with my own hands.
Lies.
I'd heard that special ringtone last night at the hospital, too.
That was Maya's ringtone — hers alone.
My own flesh and blood. Six years old. Already fluent in lying to me on his father's behalf.
I looked at my son's face — so like Ethan's — and despair ran cold from the soles of my feet all the way up to my heart.
Fine.
This seven-year marriage, this family, this child — I don't want any of it.
