Chapter 2

Thirteen years ago, it was a Wednesday, three in the afternoon.

I remembered it so clearly because the supermarket had eggs on sale that day, and I lugged two bags home, my hands red from the strain.

As I stepped in and changed my shoes, I spotted a phone on the coffee table, Edward's phone.

He never left his phone behind. But that day, rushing out to meet a client, he forgot it.

I didn't plan to look at it. Honestly, I didn't. But it rang on its own.

A text popped up with no name, only a string of numbers: [Edward, the baby kicked me today. When are you coming to see us?]

There was a photo attached. A woman's hand rested on her swollen belly, her nails painted a bright red.

I stood in the entryway, holding those two bags of eggs, frozen for a long time.

Then I put the phone back on the coffee table, right where I'd found it, same angle, same spot.

I put the eggs in the fridge and hung my coat on the rack.

I sat on the couch and thought for ten minutes.

I didn't cry. It wasn't that I didn't want to cry. It was like a wire in my mind suddenly pulled taut.

I turned on my computer and logged into online banking.

Edward's bank card password was my birthday. He never changed it.

He figured there was no need, because he thought I'd never check.

I pulled up the transaction records and started from the most recent, scrolling backward.

Every month, there was a fixed transfer of 3 thousand dollars.

It had been going on for eleven months. The recipient was Mandy Harper.

Besides the regular 3 thousand, there were random transfers, like 1 thousand, 2 thousand, and 4 thousand dollars.

The biggest one was 20 thousand dollars. The note said: [Prenatal checkup plus nutrition.]

I took a pen and wrote it all down in my notebook, adding up every single transfer.

Over eleven months, he'd sent out one hundred and nine thousand dollars.

Our total savings were over two hundred thousand dollars. Two-thirds were gone.

I scrolled back to earlier records.

Starting a year and a half ago, there were frequent hotel charges. Same hotel, the one in the south of the city, Riverside Suites. Each time, one to two hundred dollars. At the busiest, twice a week.

I closed the notebook and buried it under my thick winter coat at the bottom of my closet.

That night, when Edward came home, the first thing he did was reach for the coffee table. The phone was there.

He let out a sigh of relief, thinking I hadn't noticed. "I'm exhausted today. I'm starving."

I brought the food to the table. "I made your favorite glazed pork ribs."

He ate a lot, burped, and collapsed on the couch to watch TV.

I was washing dishes in the kitchen.

The faucet was on, water roaring in the sink.

The sound of water drowned out my thoughts as I spent another ten minutes thinking.

I couldn't get a divorce. Not because I couldn't let him go. It was because I spent the whole afternoon digging and found something out.

The house we lived in was bought before we got married, and it was in his name.

His car was bought before we got married.

His company was registered before we got married.

I'd been married to him for eight years. No job, no income. Nothing was in my name.

If I got a divorce, I'd get nothing.

I'd be the one walking away with nothing.

I turned off the faucet and dried my hands.

Early the next morning, I left the house and went to find someone.