Chapter 4

At midnight, the last guests finally left.

The nanny took Leo and Maya upstairs, leaving Julian, Sienna, and me alone beside the dying fire.

“It's finally over,” Julian said, pulling off his tie.

He turned immediately to Sienna.

“Are you tired? You shouldn't stay up this late while you're pregnant.”

“I'm fine,” Sienna replied sweetly. “I'll help Sister Nora clean everything. She worked the hardest tonight.”

“No.”

I stood in front of the fireplace and interrupted her.

Julian frowned. “Nora, what's wrong with you? You've had a long face all evening. Do you know how perfunctory you were in front of our guests?”

“Perfunctory?”

I reached into my apron pocket and removed Julian's phone. Then I placed the printed hotel records, photographs, messages, and transfer receipts on the coffee table.

The color drained from his face.

Sienna took half a step backward.

“Nora,” Julian said, “you went through my phone?”

I slammed the evidence onto the table. The papers scattered across the carpet.

“You had an affair under my nose for an entire year. Sienna, I paid for your education, rented an apartment for you, and welcomed you into my home when you had nowhere to go.”

My voice trembled, but I did not stop.

“While I was crying in the hospital because I couldn't conceive another child, you held my hand and comforted me. All that time, you were trying to become pregnant with my husband's child.”

Sienna's eyes filled with tears. She dropped to her knees and reached for my skirt.

“Nora, I'm sorry! It's all my fault. Julian and I are truly in love, but I never intended to destroy your family. I'll leave right now. Please don't blame him.”

I stepped away from her hand.

Julian immediately pulled her up and placed her behind him.

“Enough, Nora! Take your anger out on me. Sienna is pregnant. She can't become emotional.”

He glared at me without the slightest trace of remorse.

“What's done is done. What can you change by making a scene? I made a mistake that countless men have made. Do you have to keep behaving like a shrew?”

My phone remained hidden in my apron pocket, silently recording his confession and every insult.

A shrew.

That was his judgment of me after nine years of marriage and two children.

I pressed my palm against the phone to make sure the recording was still running.

“Go on, Julian,” I said. “Tell me what else you think I deserve.”