Chapter 1

While I was whipping up some hot cocoa for our daughter, Frank's phone buzzed three times on the sofa.

I picked it up, figured I'd help him get back to whoever it was. The screen lit up, and I saw two WhatsApp icons. One was on the home screen; the other was tucked away on the second page of a "Tools" folder.

I tapped in. The person pinned at the top of his recent chats was saved as a single heart emoji. The latest message read: [Honey, I tried on that dress. It's 1460 dollars. Can you Venmo me?]

He'd replied: [Anything for you, babe. Buy it, and I'll transfer the cash later.]

I put the phone back exactly where I found it and brought the cocoa into my daughter's room.

The second I shut her door, I felt the fabric of the old loungewear I'd been wearing for three years. Last winter, I'd wanted a new parka, but he told me money was tight and asked me to wait.

I waited all winter.

*****

The cocoa was bubbling away on the stove, but I stood in the kitchen, frozen. All I could think about was that heart emoji.

Frank came out of the bedroom, his hair still wet, his slippers slapping against the floor. "Rachel, where's my phone?"

"On the couch," I replied.

He grabbed it, gave it a casual swipe, and shoved it into his pocket. He didn't suspect a thing.

"Mom, the cocoa is too hot!" my daughter called from her room.

"Coming!" I took the pot off the heat, poured it into her mug, and stirred in a splash of cold water to take the edge off. My hands were steady.

Frank leaned against the doorframe, watching me. "We have a team-building event tomorrow. I'll probably be back late."

"Okay," I replied.

"Don't wait up for me," he added.

"Alright," I said.

He let out a yawn and headed back to bed.

After I finished the dishes, I waited for my daughter to drift off and sat in the living room until one in the morning. His snoring drifted in from the bedroom, rhythmic and peaceful.

Seven years of marriage, and for the first time, that sound made me feel sick.

At 2 AM, I tiptoed over to the couch. His phone was sitting right there on the coffee table. It had no lock screen password. He never used one because he knew I never checked his phone.

I opened that hidden WhatsApp tucked away in the folder. The chat history started eight months ago.

The first message was from her: [Mr. Dawson, thanks for helping me move those planters today. You're such a sweetheart.]

I scrolled down.

By the third week, she was calling him "Frank." By the sixth week, it was "Honey."

I went to his payment apps to go through the transfers, counting them one by one. The smallest was 600 dollars; the largest was 12 thousand dollars. That 12 thousand dollars was the buyout for her flower shop.

I checked his Notes app. He'd kept a ledger there: [Mandy's Shop Investment: Buyout,12 thousand dollars; Renovation, 22 thousand dollars; Initial Inventory, 4000 dollars.]

The total was 38 thousand dollars.

I'd done the math on our household finances before. This past half year, the money he transferred to my account was nearly 50 thousand dollars less than what he gave me during the same period last year.

So, that's where the money went.

I put the phone back, went to the kitchen, and poured a glass of water. It was tasteless, just like what I felt right then.

I sat there in the dark for a long time, thinking.

I thought about when we first got married. He was making 1900 dollars a month; I was making 2000 dollars. The down payment on the house was 200 thousand dollars. My family put up 110 thousand dollars, and I'd saved 90 thousand dollars over three years of working.

He didn't contribute a dime.

All these years, the utilities, the maintenance fees, our daughter's formula and diapers, and the monthly mortgage all came out of the account I managed. All he had to do was deposit his paycheck into the family fund.

Now I knew. Before that check ever hit our account, he'd already skimmed off a chunk for someone else.

I didn't cry. I pulled up my banking app. Our joint account balance was 137874 dollars. The remaining mortgage was 243333 dollars, and the current market value of this house was roughly 800 thousand dollars.

I checked every record, then closed the app. I opened my Notes app, started a new file, and typed out two words: [Asset Inventory.]

Then I went to bed. I still had work tomorrow.