Chapter 2
The notification from our bank arrived on a Thursday morning, buried among the usual promotional emails and bills. *Account Balance Alert: Your Future Fund account balance is now $0.00.*
My coffee mug slipped from my fingers, shattering against the kitchen floor. Fifty thousand dollars. Seven years of careful saving, of skipping vacations and buying generic groceries, of dreaming about the house we'd build together someday. Gone.
My hands shook as I called the bank, praying it was some kind of mistake. The customer service representative's voice was professionally neutral as she delivered the blow.
"Yes, Mrs. Montgomery. The account was closed yesterday at 2:47 PM. The full balance was withdrawn by the primary account holder, Vicente Montgomery."
"That's impossible," I whispered. "We both have to sign for withdrawals over ten thousand dollars."
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but according to our records, only Mr. Montgomery's signature was required. The account was set up with him as the primary holder."
The phone slipped from my numb fingers. Vicente had structured our future fund so he could drain it without my consent. How long had he been planning this?
I drove to the bank in a daze, still wearing my pajama top under my coat. Maybe if I spoke to someone in person, maybe there was something they could do. The manager, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, looked genuinely sorry as she pulled up our account history.
"The withdrawal was processed yesterday afternoon," she confirmed. "A cashier's check for the full amount. I'm afraid once it's been cashed, there's nothing we can do."
"Where did the money go?" My voice sounded strange, distant.
She hesitated, then turned her computer screen toward me. "Tiffany & Co. for $15,000. Air France for $8,000. The rest was cash."
The lobby seemed to tilt around me. Other customers were staring now, drawn by my obvious distress. I stumbled outside, barely making it to my car before the sobs came. Fifteen thousand dollars on jewelry. Eight thousand on flights. Our entire future, liquidated for his mistress.
* * *
Vicente was waiting in our living room when I got home, looking perfectly at ease on the sofa we'd bought together three years ago. He didn't even glance up from his phone when I walked in.
"You stole our money," I said, my voice hoarse from crying.
Now he looked up, his expression almost bored. "I didn't steal anything. It was my account."
"Our account. Our future fund. For our house, our children—"
"What children, Sophia?" He stood up, his face twisting with sudden cruelty. "We've been trying for two years. Face it—you're broken."
The words hit me like a physical blow. We'd been to specialists, done tests. The doctors said there was no medical reason we couldn't conceive. They'd suggested stress, timing, patience.
"Bellamy's pregnant," he continued, his voice gaining momentum. "Three months along. She's giving me what you never could."
My legs gave out. I sank into the armchair, my whole body trembling. "Pregnant?"
"She's young, fertile, exciting. Everything you're not." He paced now, animated in a way I hadn't seen in months. "I'm done pretending this marriage means anything. I'm done pretending you're enough."
"The money was for us," I whispered.
"The money bought her the diamond necklace she deserves and a weekend in Paris where I can actually be happy." His smile was vicious. "She appreciated it. She didn't interrogate me or make me feel guilty for wanting to treat the woman I love."
"Seven years, Vicente. Seven years of my life—"
"Seven years of mediocrity. Seven years of your frigid little performances in bed and your controlling, jealous behavior. You want to know why I chose her? Because she makes me feel like a man instead of a prisoner."
Each word was a knife, cutting deeper than the last. The room spun around me, and I felt something sharp and cramping in my abdomen. I pressed my hand to my stomach, trying to breathe through the pain.
"You're pathetic," Vicente continued, oblivious to my distress. "Clinging to a marriage that died years ago. Bellamy and I are building a real future. A family. Something you'll never be able to give anyone."
The cramping intensified, radiating through my pelvis and back. I doubled over, a gasp escaping my lips.
"What's wrong with you now?" Vicente's voice was filled with disgust, not concern.
I couldn't answer. The pain was getting worse, accompanied by a wetness I didn't want to acknowledge. When I looked down, I saw the dark stain spreading across my light gray pants.
"I need to go to the hospital," I managed to say.
Vicente glanced at his watch. "I'm meeting Bellamy for dinner. Figure it out yourself."
He walked out, leaving me bleeding and broken on our living room floor, the ghost of our future scattered around me like the shreds of lingerie Bellamy had destroyed in that parking garage.