Chapter 5
I also checked Michael's phone.
It wasn't easy. I didn't know his password at first, but I figured out that it was Oliver's birthday. While he was taking a shower, I unlocked his phone.
The chat list was totally clean, and the conversation with Vanessa was completely empty. He'd deleted everything.
But then I opened his photo album.
There were over three thousand photos, all neatly organized into different albums.
The "Oliver" album had one hundred and twenty photos.
The "Work" album had four hundred photos.
The "Vanessa" album had two thousand one hundred photos.
I tapped open the "Vanessa" album.
The very first photo was a selfie of Vanessa, taken in some café in Nalita. She was giving the camera a gentle smile. Her long hair draped over her shoulders, her face was soft and flawless, and her eyes were warm and kind.
Dressed in a white sweater, she looked heartbreakingly beautiful, like a white flower swaying in the wind.
Scrolling down, it was all Vanessa—cooking, arranging flowers, hanging out with her daughter, shopping, falling asleep with a book in her hands, watering plants out on the balcony, and so on.
Every single shot was taken with so much care. The composition, the lighting, and the angles all looked like they came straight from a professional photographer's portfolio.
And that "photographer" was my husband.
He spent three times longer taking pictures of Vanessa than he ever did of Oliver.
I put the phone back where I found it and walked into the bathroom. I stood there, staring at myself in the mirror for ages.
The woman in the mirror was thirty-two, with fine lines at the corners of her eyes. Her skin was dull from all those late nights taking care of her child, her lips were cracked, and her hair was pulled back in a careless ponytail.
She was wearing pajamas covered in pills and cotton slippers so worn that they'd turned pale.
She looked just like a tool.
I suddenly let out a laugh, but as I kept laughing, tears started rolling down my cheeks.
But I didn't cry for long. I wiped my tears, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number. "Sophie, are you free tomorrow? Can you come with me to the hospital?"
"What's wrong? Are you not feeling well?" Sophie asked.
"I need to get a checkup."
I paused, looking down at my belly that hadn't started to show yet.
I was two months pregnant, and Michael had no clue.
I was going to tell him on his birthday as a surprise.
But now, I knew that I couldn't have this baby.
Michael treated me like a baby-making machine. I'd already given him one kid, and now the second was about to be delivered. Once this baby was born, I'd be completely used up.
What would he do then? Would he keep up this fake marriage, or would he come clean and run off with Vanessa?
Either way, I was done playing along.
No more baby, and no more the baby's father.
I swore I'd ruin Michael's and Vanessa's reputation.
*****
The next day, Sophie came with me to the hospital for the checkup, and I scheduled the abortion.
The procedure was set for two weeks later.
When Sophie learned the whole truth, she was so furious that she was shaking in the hospital hallway. She nearly marched straight to Michael's workplace to raise hell.
"Are you seriously going to put up with this?" Sophie asked, her eyes red with anger. "Erica, if you let Michael get away with it, I'll look down on you for the rest of my life."
"No way am I letting this slide," I replied.
I had gathered all the bank statements, shopping receipts, and photo screenshots, printed them out, and put them into a file folder.
"I'm gonna let Michael know that even someone treated like a tool can bite back," I said.
*****
For the next week, I kept up appearances, acting like nothing had changed.
I made Michael coffee, ironed his shirts, sent him off in the morning, and waited for him to get back at night. When he was home, I talked to him as if everything was fine. When he was out, I kept collecting evidence behind his back.
I took a trip to Nalita.
Under the guise of a "girls' trip", Sophie came with me to Vanessa's flower studio.
The studio was tucked away in an alley in Nalita, decorated in an artsy style. There was a row of flowers planted by the entrance.
The display window was filled with delicate flower baskets and bouquets, all with pretty hefty price tags.
When I walked in, Vanessa was wrapping a bouquet for a client.
She was even more stunning in real life than in the photos. She looked about thirty-six or thirty-seven, well-maintained, with flawless, smooth skin and a slender, graceful figure.
She wore a pale blue cotton-linen dress, her hair loosely tied back, a few wisps falling around her ears. She had a gentle aura, like an artistic woman stepped out of a traditional painting.
She paused when she saw me, and then offered a polite smile. "Hello, is there anything I can help you with?"
She'd never seen me before. Michael had never shown her my photo, or maybe he never brought me up at all.
To Vanessa, I was probably nothing more than a vague concept: "Michael's wife"—someone insignificant, someone she didn't even need to acknowledge.
"Just browsing, thanks," I said.
Vanessa nodded and continued arranging flowers for her client. Her movements were graceful, her slender fingers flitting among the stems like she was playing a silent piano.
I noticed a Cartier bracelet on her wrist. I'd seen that exact style at the boutique before. It was over twelve thousand dollars.
Michael bought it for her.
She also wore a delicate necklace with a tiny diamond pendant. I had one that looked almost the same, except mine was silver, bought off eBay for 60 dollars.
Michael's gift to Vanessa was a twelve-thousand-dollar Cartier bracelet, and his gift to me was just like the dust cloth that came inside the Cartier box.