Chapter 1

The school-district apartment just finished renovation, and I was organizing the drawers in the study.

A brown paper envelope fell out and I opened it.

It was a pregnancy test report.

The patient's name was Colette Barson, and the report was done on October 15. It showed that Colette was 12 weeks pregnant.

I read it three times.

Just then, my husband, Melvin Ramsey pushed the door open. "Honey, dinner's—"

I held up the report and his face changed instantly.

"What is this?" I asked.

"I—"

"Colette is the receptionist at your company," I said, lowering the report. "Twelve weeks pregnant. That's three months."

He started, "Honey, I can explain—"

"No need." I took out my phone. "I checked your cloud backup."

He froze.

"Sixty-seven transfers. 170 thousand dollars." I looked at him. "And a car purchase invoice for another 45 thousand dollars."

Melvin said nothing.

I turned and walked toward the bedroom. "Let's divorce."

*****

I sat on the edge of the bed, my phone screen glowing.

In the bank app, the transfer records scrolled by one after another.

The recipient was Colette.

There were amounts ranging from 150 dollars, 250 dollars, 400 dollars, 600 dollars. The largest transfer was 11 thousand dollars, with the note "Happy birthday, baby."

The date was May 20, 2025.

That was also my birthday. Melvin had sent me 100 dollars, saying things were rough this year and his bonus was low.

I zoomed in on one of the transfer records and took a screenshot.

Then I opened Melvin's cloud backup.

I found a chat labeled "work chat," and the last message, sent last night, was from Colette. It said: [Honey, I want barbecue tomorrow.]

I scrolled back through the chat history.

It was filled with [Baby, I miss you], [Where should we go this weekend?] and [When are you sending this month's allowance?]

Every message made me sick.

I kept scrolling and found the first message from September 2023. It said, [Melvin, thanks for helping me out today.]

That was twenty-six months ago.

I put away my phone and stared out the window.

Dawn was breaking.

Melvin was still on the couch in the living room. He hadn't slept a wink all night.

I hadn't slept either.

Just five hours ago, I stumbled upon that prenatal checkup report.

In those five hours, I checked every inch of his phone's cloud backup, scrolled through his bank statements, and dug through all his messages on WhatsApp.

There were sixty-seven transfers of a total of 160 thousand dollars.

It included a car purchase receipt for 45 thousand dollars.

I ended up with 238 screenshots saved from their chats.

Altogether, their calls added up to 145 hours.

That was enough.

I stood up, walked over to the closet, and pulled out a black file folder.

Inside was a copy of the property deed.

The school district house cost 1 million dollars, with a down payment of 300 thousand dollars.

I put in 200 thousand dollars, and Melvin put in 100 thousand dollars.

But on the deed, it was just my name.

I was the one who insisted, and Melvin went along with it, saying, "We're married, so it's all the same whose name is on it."

Now that I looked back, that decision really saved me.

I put the folder in my bag, grabbed my phone, and texted my best friend Sandra Hawkins: [Hey, you there? Can you help me find a lawyer?]

Sandra replied in seconds: [What happened?]

[Melvin cheated on me, and his mistress is pregnant,] I replied.

[What? I'm coming over right now,] Sandra texted.

I put my phone away and pushed open the bedroom door.

Melvin was still sitting on the couch. When he saw me, he jumped to his feet.

"Honey..." he said.

"I'm off to work," I said, grabbing my bag. "We'll talk tonight."

"Honey, can you just hear me out?" Melvin pleaded.

"Don't bother," I said, looking him straight in the eye. "I know everything."

I turned and walked out the door.

In the elevator, I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

I was 32, a product manager making 10 thousand dollars a month, married, with a 5-year-old son.

I used to think my marriage was rock solid and we had a happy home.

Turned out, it was all a lie.

The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped out.

The sunlight was blinding, but I didn't cry.

At work, I kept up with my usual routine, attending meetings, writing up plans, and following up on projects.

No one could tell anything was wrong.

During lunch break, Sandra showed up.

She was my university roommate, and now she worked at a law firm.

We met at the café downstairs from my office.

"Here," Sandra said, handing me a business card. "Edith Cowery is the best divorce lawyer at our firm. She's handled tons of cases and always fights for women's interests."

"Thanks," I said, taking the card.

"Are you really set on getting a divorce?" Sandra asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

"What about your son?" Sandra asked.

"He will definitely stay with me," I replied. "Melvin only gives 1500 dollars a month, but I put in 2300 dollars. I'm the one covering most of the expenses. Plus, I've always been the one taking care of our child. Melvin's always working overtime or out of town. He barely does anything for our kid."

"Good." Sandra nodded. "Did you get all the evidence?"

"Yeah, I got everything," I said, pulling out my phone and showing her the screenshots. "Sixty-seven transfer records, 238 chat screenshots, and the original prenatal checkup report."

Sandra looked through everything and nodded. "This is more than enough. The evidence is rock solid. By the way, what about the house?"

"The property deed has only my name on it," I said.