Chapter 2

"What is going on out here?!" an elderly woman demanded, stepping out of apartment 703.

The hallway was suddenly flooded with light as doors clicked open all around us. Neighbors poked their heads out, their eyes wide, whispering and pointing at me. I sat collapsed on the freezing floor, shivering in physical agony.

Seeing the audience, Yvette's demeanor flipped in a split second.

The smug, sneering mistress vanished. She immediately switched to a weak, fragile victim.

She clutched her pregnant belly and collapsed into Frank's arms, weeping uncontrollably.

"Please, someone help us!" Yvette cried, her voice trembling. "This crazy woman won't leave my husband alone!".

"What?" I gasped, struggling to my feet. "I'm his wife!".

Yvette didn't miss a beat. "We have been married for seven years!" she sobbed to the neighbors, her tears looking incredibly real. "I always bring you all holiday gifts! I sign for your packages when you aren't home!".

The neighbors' expressions instantly shifted. Pity for Yvette turned into glaring disgust aimed right at me.

"It's true, Yvette is such a sweet girl," an older woman muttered. "Who is this lunatic?".

"I'm the wife!" I screamed, desperation clawing at my throat. "Frank and I have been legally married for seven years! I live right upstairs in 802!".

"I've never seen her before in my life," a man from down the hall scoffed. "Dressed like a tramp, too."

"I manage my late parents' estate! I leave early and come home late!" I pleaded, my voice cracking under the weight of the injustice. "That's why you don't know me!".

But my frantic defense was entirely drowned out by their cruel whispers.

To them, I wasn't the victim. I was the psychotic homewrecker trying to destroy a happy, growing family.

Then, my absolute worst nightmare unfolded.

Evan, my own flesh and blood, stepped out from behind Frank.

"This mean lady always comes to make trouble!" Evan lied smoothly, projecting his tiny voice to the crowd.

"Evan! No!" I choked out, feeling my soul rip apart. "Baby, it's Mommy! Tell them!"

Evan rolled his eyes and stepped closer to Yvette. "She scolds my Mommy Yvette all the time!" he continued, pointing his small finger right at my face. "And she even pushed me!".

The crowd gasped. A collective murmur of outrage rippled through the hallway.

That was it. My six-year-old son had just hammered the final nail into my coffin. He had completely solidified my image as an evil, violent stalker.

Sensing her absolute victory, Yvette stepped out of Frank's embrace.

SMACK!

She slapped me across the face with explosive force.

The stinging pain radiated through my jaw, but it was nothing compared to the agony in my chest.

"You shameless bitch!" Yvette shrieked.

She gestured wildly at the spilled private-kitchen food staining the floor. "You came here tonight on purpose! You wanted to attack me and make me miscarry!"

"I didn't! You're lying!" I screamed, lunging forward, but Frank roughly shoved me back again.

Frank dropped to his knees right in front of the neighbors. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking as if he were crying uncontrollably.

"I'm so sorry, Yvette!" Frank wailed, putting on a sickeningly perfect performance of a repentant husband. "She just keeps harassing me! I swear I don't love her! Please, please forgive me!".

"Oh, you poor dear," the elderly neighbor cooed, rushing over to pat Yvette's shoulder. "You have to forgive him. Men make mistakes, but you have to think of the baby.".

"You're all blind! I have proof!" I yelled frantically. I slapped my pockets, desperate to find my phone.

Empty.

My wedding photos. Our digital footprint. It was all on my phone, and I had left it upstairs in my apartment.

"Don't move! I have our wedding photos!" I screamed, turning on my heel and scrambling up the stairwell to the eighth floor.

I reached my door.

I raised my trembling hand to the digital keypad.

The password wouldn't work.

I deleted the numbers, my hands shaking violently, and entered it again. Nothing.

I tried every possible combination I could think of. None of them worked.

The password had been completely changed.

I was locked out of my own home. The home I bought with my parents' money—and Frank had changed the code remotely on his phone.

Panic and sheer rage consumed me. I spun around and sprinted back down the stairs, slamming my fists against the door of 702.

"Frank! Open this door!" I roared, kicking the steel frame. "Let me into my house!"

The door remained firmly shut. But Frank's icy, muffled voice slithered through the wooden panel.

"Keep making a scene, Diana," Frank threatened, his tone dripping with malice.

"You changed the locks! You stole my son!" I sobbed against the door.

"I have a very good friend who works in the psychiatric ward at the city hospital," Frank hissed through the door.

My breath caught in my throat.

"If you don't shut your mouth and walk away right now, I will tell everyone you have severe bipolar disorder," Frank promised.

"You wouldn't..." I whispered, terror finally piercing through my anger.

"I'll have you committed," he sneered. "I'll make sure everyone thinks you're insane. I will completely ruin you.".