Chapter 3

After dinner, I locked myself in my bedroom, opened my laptop, and started organizing everything.

The certified Marriage Certificate.

The joint bank account statements.

The apartment lease.

Evelyn’s medical and caregiving expenses.

Lily’s school fees and supply receipts.

I scanned, printed, and backed up every single page.

By noon the next day, the PI sent over the preliminary file.

Vanessa Carlisle. Twenty-eight. Administrative director at a local firm.

A year ago, she and Dominic met at an industry networking event. They started dating three months later. Five months ago, she got pregnant. She was currently on leave, preparing for the baby.

And my husband had indeed been "traveling" frequently over the past year. But his destination wasn't out of state.

It was a leased condo on Chicago’s North Side.

He had simply switched to a slightly better-paying job, packaging it as a high-paying out-of-state contract. He dumped Evelyn and Lily on me, transferring a pathetic $700 a month for household and caregiving expenses. Seven hundred dollars in Chicago didn't even cover a closet, let alone the survival of three human beings. Meanwhile, he was in the exact same city, building a shiny new life.

The PI highlighted a crucial detail.

Vanessa’s parents owned a mid-sized company and were well-off. Initially, they didn't approve of Dominic. But when Vanessa got pregnant, Dominic lied to the Carlisles, claiming he had already legally ended his previous marriage and was just waiting on some paperwork for a new Marriage License.

Based on that lie, the Carlisles agreed to let them host a wedding ceremony for family and friends. However, they demanded he produce all legal documents before they would allow him to officially file for a new Marriage License.

They thought this was just a ceremony pending a delayed legal registration.

I kept scrolling.

When I saw the joint account statements, my breath hitched.

Starting three months ago, roughly $30,000 had been drained from our savings. The recipients were a wedding planning agency, a hotel events team, and related vendors.

Yesterday, there was a fresh charge for $4,500.

The memo: Engagement ring final payment.

I closed my eyes, remembering the nights Dominic and I crammed into our rental apartment, calculating the down payment for a small condo in the Chicago suburbs.

I stopped buying new clothes. He quit smoking to save cash. We talked about giving Evelyn a south-facing room, and giving Lily a quiet study nook. We even talked about future kids, picking out a boy's name and a girl's name.

Those nights we fell asleep in each other's arms, all that hardship we endured for a shared future—it was all a dream.

I walked into the bathroom and turned on the faucet.

Warm water washed over my face, mixing with my tears until I couldn't tell them apart. The woman in the mirror had red, swollen eyes and a haggard face. I stared at her, and suddenly, I laughed.

I laughed until I was crying again.

You really went all out, Dominic.

After that day, I played my part perfectly on the surface.

Up at 6:00 AM. Wash, feed, and massage Evelyn.

Wake Lily at 7:00. Make breakfast, drop her at school.

Groceries, cleaning, laundry, lunch prep.

Freelance work in the afternoon. Pick Lily up, help with homework, cook dinner, clean Evelyn, coax Lily to sleep.

Day after day, like a flawlessly calibrated machine.

During dinner on Tuesday, Lily bounced in her seat. "Claire, Mason’s family has a strawberry farm! They invited me to pick strawberries this Saturday. We’re going to have a barbecue and stay the night. Can I go?"

My hand stalled on my fork. I seamlessly recovered, dropping a piece of roasted chicken onto her plate.

"Sure. Bring a jacket, the farm will get cold at night."

Lily’s eyes lit up. "You’re the best!"

But I saw the slight tremor in her fingers as she gripped her fork.

What family farm.

What classmate’s sleepover.

Just another excuse to attend her brother’s wedding.

On Friday night, Lily packed her little suitcase with pretty dresses and hair clips. The pink formal dress Vanessa had bought her was tucked inside. I had already caught her twirling in it in front of the mirror several times.

"Have fun," I said, zipping her bag and pulling her into a hug.

Saturday morning, Dominic actually called me.

"Claire, my project is hitting a critical deadline. I’m gonna be swamped the next two days. Probably won't be able to call."

He was busy getting married, but telling me he was working overtime.

"Okay," I said evenly. "Take care of yourself."

He paused, clearly thrown by my cold tone. "Is everything okay at home? Do you have enough money?"

"Enough."

"Good," he rushed out. "When I get back, I’ll make it all up to you. Gotta go, my manager is looking for me."

The line went dead.

I stared at the dark screen until 10:00 AM, when the PI texted me the final dossier and the wedding address.

A boutique hotel ballroom in downtown Chicago.

I started to get ready.

I reached into the back of my closet and pulled out an off-white dress. It was the dress I wore the day Dominic and I got married. Not a wedding gown. Just a simple dress.

He had promised we’d have a real wedding once we bought a house. Now I knew he never intended to keep that promise.

The dress was loose on me now. I had lost too much weight this year. I pinned it at the waist, applied makeup to hide the dark circles and exhaustion.

The woman in the mirror finally had color in her cheeks. But her eyes were still cold.

Before leaving, I checked on Evelyn. She was napping, her breathing steady.

I didn't leave her alone in the apartment. The day before, I had contacted a home care agency. A certified caregiver would arrive right before I left and cover the entire weekend.

I handed the agency Dominic’s contact info, Evelyn’s care plan, and the emergency contacts. The agency had already notified Dominic that he was assuming responsibility for her subsequent care.

I left a letter on Evelyn's nightstand. It explained exactly what was happening and outlined the care arrangements. The short-term fees were prepaid, and auto-pay was set up.

I stood by the bed and whispered, "I'm sorry, Evelyn. But I can't live like this anymore."