— I’ll tell her tonight, — Mark said. — She’s already on edge after losing her job. It’s the perfect time. I’ll play the sympathetic card. Say it’s better for both of us. Offer her a bit of cash to walk away.
Marie snorted. — Lay on the pity. Make her feel like a burden. She’ll give in. Women like her always do.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. But even through the pain, I smiled to myself. Just barely. Because they didn’t know the truth. I hadn’t been fired. I had been promoted. And they had no idea their plan was already crumbling.
I stayed crouched behind the door long after they stopped talking. I didn’t move when I heard the couch creak or the front door close behind Marie. I just sat there, hugging my knees, my heart thumping so loudly I was sure it would give me away. My body was frozen. But my mind was on fire. This wasn’t just betrayal. This was a declaration of war. And I had walked right into it, unarmed, unaware, until now. But I wasn’t going to be a casualty. Not quietly. Not ever.
That night, I didn’t speak to Mark. He acted as if nothing had happened. He poured himself a drink, watched the game, and glanced at me with that carefully neutral expression that now seemed so grotesque. I didn’t look at him. I didn’t trust myself to. Because if I did, I might shatter the illusion. And I needed that illusion, at least for a little while longer.
In bed, I lay still with my eyes open, my back to him. He fell asleep quickly, as he always did, as if the day hadn’t involved plotting to erase me from his life. I listened to his breathing and I planned.
The next morning, I left the house before sunrise. I didn’t go to work. Not right away. I went to the storage closet where we kept old documents: warranties, receipts, contracts, tax papers. I pulled out everything I could find. I needed proof. Evidence that I had contributed to that house. That I had invested in it with my own money, not just my presence. The new water heater. My bonus had paid for it. The custom cabinetry in the kitchen. My design, my deposit. I dug out bank statements. Delivery invoices. Furniture receipts. I packed them all into a box, then into a bag, and drove across town to the only person I trusted. Olivia.
Olivia Davis wasn’t just a colleague. She was my friend. For years, we had been each other’s sanity during late nights at the office. She knew my coffee order, my birthday, and the name of the stray cat I once tried to adopt and failed miserably. Most importantly, she had never once betrayed me, not even with gossip. And that made her invaluable now.
When I showed up at her door, she didn’t ask questions. She just looked at me for a moment, then stepped aside…
— I need a favor, — I whispered.
— Say no more, — she said.
In her kitchen, I placed the documents on her table. — If anything happens—if I disappear, if I stop answering calls—give this to my lawyer.
She raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
— I’m not being paranoid, — I added, seeing the concern on her face. — But I can’t take any risks.
Olivia nodded slowly. — You’re scaring me a little. But okay. Whatever you need.
I exhaled, the tension in my chest loosening just a bit. I hadn’t told her everything—not about Clara, not about the baby, not yet. But she understood enough. That something was deeply wrong. That I needed her. And for now, that was enough.
As I drove back home, I passed by the park where Mark and I used to walk on Sundays. I remembered how he used to hold my hand. How he once looked at me as if I were his entire world. That man, that version of him, was gone. The one waiting at home for me now was a stranger in familiar skin. And tonight, that stranger was going to sit me down, look me in the eye, and ask me to disappear. He had no idea that I was already plotting how to make sure it would be him who lost everything.
When I walked through the front door that evening, I knew it was coming. The conversation. The performance. He had rehearsed it in his mind. I could see it on his face: that feigned concern, the artificial heaviness in his shoulders. Mark Carter was about to pretend to be the hero in his own act of betrayal.
— Hey, — he said, his voice low, careful. — We should talk.
I gave him a tired smile, just enough to look worn down, just enough to keep him confident. — Sure, — I replied, dropping my bag by the door. — What’s up?
He gestured toward the living room, which was already set up like a scene from a play. He had dimmed the lights. Two glasses of wine sat on the coffee table. He even had a blanket draped over the armrest, as if this was going to be some gentle, mutual discussion, as if he were doing me a favor by dismantling my life with care.
I sat down. He took the armchair across from me, lacing his fingers together and letting out a sigh so theatrical I nearly laughed.
— Allison, — he began. — I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About us. About where we are. And I think we’ve grown apart.
I kept my eyes on the wine glass, nodding slightly. — Okay.
— I don’t want this to be messy, — he continued, leaning forward. — I don’t want lawyers or courtrooms. I just think it’s time we both admitted this marriage isn’t working anymore. — He sounded heartbroken, like he was the victim, as if this decision was tearing him apart. — I mean, with you being out of work now, — he added gently. — Maybe this is a good time for a fresh start… for both of us.
My stomach churned. I let my bottom lip tremble just a little. — Are you saying… divorce?
He nodded, reaching for his wine glass as if he deserved to take a victory sip. — Yeah, but amicable. Civil. I don’t want to fight. I’m willing to help you get on your feet. You’ll need a place to stay, obviously, and some money to get settled.
I tilted my head, just enough to appear fragile. — You’d do that for me?
— Of course, — he said, placing a hand on his chest like some kind of savior. — I care about you, Allison. I just… I don’t think we’re right for each other anymore. We’ve both changed. — He paused for effect, then added, — And the house, it’s legally mine. It was left to me by my father. But I want to be fair. I’ll offer you a settlement. Something to help with rent for a few months.
I blinked, letting out a shaky breath. — How much?
He named a number. It was laughable, a fraction of what I had invested in that home. But I didn’t laugh. I didn’t even flinch. Instead, I stared at him as if I were seeing him for the first time.
— I just… I thought we’d try harder, — I whispered. — I thought we were stronger than this.
Mark reached out, touched my hand like a man performing a role he no longer cared about. — I’m sorry, but this is the best path forward. I promise.
And right then, I gave him what he wanted. I nodded slowly, my eyes misty, my lips pressed tight in defeat. — Okay, — I said. — I’ll think about it.
He exhaled, visibly relieved. But behind my silence, behind the trembling breath and the wet lashes, I was already building my case. Because he didn’t want lawyers. But I was going to hire the best one in town.
The next morning, I left the house before Mark even stirred. He was still snoring on the couch, buried under a blanket like a child hiding from consequences. I didn’t leave a note this time. No explanation. No polite goodbye. Just silence. Let him wonder…
Downtown Portland was just waking up when I stepped into the old brick building where Monica Bell’s office was tucked between a florist and a tax accountant. The hallway smelled faintly of lavender and ink. I sat in the waiting room for ten minutes that felt like a lifetime, rehearsing what to say. But when Monica opened the door and called my name, I stood up, walked in, and told her everything.
Not everything, exactly. I left out Clara. The baby. The betrayal so deep it made my voice crack. But I gave her enough. Enough for a lawyer to see the shape of the battlefield ahead. The inherited house. The years of shared expenses. The receipts and bank statements. The way he wanted a divorce, fast and quiet, with a sum so low it was insulting.
