Chapter 2

Early the next morning, Michael headed out. "Something came up at the office. I have to go."

I leaned against the headboard and watched him get dressed. Suit and tie, crisp and polished. Hair slicked back with gel, shoes shined to a mirror finish. Off to the office. That particular.

"What time will you be back?"

"Not sure." He glanced at his phone. "Probably late."

"I see."

He left. The moment the door closed, I got out of bed. I hadn't slept well. Those chat logs were all I could think about.

Who was Emily? Why did she suddenly reach out three months ago? You've had a rough two weeks. Was she in the hospital?

I opened my laptop and logged into the company system. The account and password were saved. Last year, when I helped him with reimbursements, he had me log in myself to check the invoices.

I pulled up the leave records page: [December 2024. Caregiver leave. December 10th to December 16th. Seven days. Recipient of care: blank.]

I stared at the screen. December 10th. The day I had surgery. He said the company couldn't spare him. December 11th. I was lying in bed with an IV drip.

He said there was a client meeting, and he couldn't make it. December 12th. I finally managed to get out of bed and take a few steps. He said the project was in crunch mode; hold on a few more days.

Seven days. A full seven days. He took seven days of caregiver leave. None of it was for me. So where was he those seven days?

I picked up his phone and opened his Moments. Blocked from me. Three years. I never paid it any mind. He said work and personal life should stay separate; it's normal. I believed him. And now.

I switched to a spare account. His Moments were visible to strangers for three days. The latest post read: [Thank you to everyone for your concern during this time.]

She's been discharged and is recovering. Once she's doing better, I'll treat you all to a meal. The message: [The attached image is a bouquet.]

"She's been discharged." She. Not me.

The comments read: [Your wife's out of the hospital. Congrats.]

[Your wife's health comes first. No rush on the meal.]

"Glad Emily's doing better. You've been through a lot too."

Emily. That name again. I made a note of who commented. David Lewis. Michael's college classmate. I opened David's Moments and scrolled down.

On December 12th, he posted: [Visited Emily at the hospital. She's recovering well. Michael has been by her side every day; lost weight and everything. True devoted soul.]

The attached image was a group photo of the three of them.

Michael sat by the hospital bed, holding a woman's hand. She wore a hospital gown, her face a little pale, but her features were delicate. She smiled gently.

The way Michael looked at her, I had never seen him look at me like that. I saved the photo. Kept scrolling.

On December 10th, David posted again: [Emily is in the hospital. Minor surgery, nothing serious. Michael took a whole week off to be with her. Guess that old story isn't over after all.]

Old story. What story. I picked up my phone and texted my best friend: [Do you know any of Michael's college friends? Someone named David.]

Three minutes later, my best friend replied: "[What's wrong?]

[Help me find out about something.]

[What about?]

[Did Michael have a girlfriend in college named Emily? Do you know anything about that?]

There was a long silence on the other end. Five minutes later. [How did you find out?]

My heart sank. [You know her.]

[Not. I've heard of her.]

[From who?]

[Back when Michael was chasing you, one of his classmates slipped up. Said he had a first love from years ago. They'd broken up a long time ago, but he could never let go.]

First love.

[Why didn't you ever tell me?]

[I thought it was all in the past." My best friend sounded a bit guilty. "Besides, you two were already married. Why would I bring it up?]

I said nothing.

[Sophia, did you find out something?]

I sent her the screenshot. A long silence. Then she replied with two words: [Holy crap.]

I put my phone away. The door clicked open. Eleanor was back. "Sophia, you're up. How are you feeling?"

"Alright."

She glanced at me. "You look pale. Get some rest."

"Okay"

I looked at her. "Eleanor, did Michael have a girlfriend in college?"

She paused for a moment. "Why are you asking about that?"

"Nothing."

"That's all ancient history." She waved her hand. "Broke up a long time ago."

"What was her name?"

Her expression shifted. "I don't know. I never met her."

"I see."

I didn't press further. She knew. I could tell from her face. But she wouldn't say. Why wouldn't she say

I went back to the bedroom and closed the door. I opened my phone and searched: [Emily Michael college.]

Nothing came up. I tried different keywords: [Michael girlfriend college.] Still nothing.

I put the phone down. Searching directly wasn't getting me anywhere. I needed to try a different approach.

I opened the banking app. Michael's salary account was under my management.

Back when we got married, he'd handed it over himself. "You handle the family finances. I trust you." I'd always thought he was generous. And now.

I tapped into the transaction history. December 2024. December 10th: transfer, 1500 dollars. Memo: none. Recipient: Emily Frost.

Emily?

December 11th: credit card expense, about 900 dollars. Location: XX Hospital. December 12th: Transfer, 1,000 dollars. Recipient: Emily Frost.

I kept scrolling down, line by line. In December alone, transfers to Emily Frost added up to 1,500, 1,000, 600, 1,500, and a total of 4,600 dollars.

And there were hospital expenses too. Care fees, meal charges, and medication costs added up to over 7,000 dollars. In a single month. 7,000 dollars.

What about my hospitalization? I scrolled back. December 10th to December 17th. The week I was in the hospital. Michael's spending records showed nothing. No hospital-related expenses at all.

My hospital bill was covered by my own insurance at sixty percent. My parents paid the rest. He didn't contribute a penny.

Because he said, "Don't you have insurance? I'm a little tight on cash right now."

Tight on cash. I stared at the numbers on the screen. 4,600. For her. Zero. For me.

I closed the app. My hands were trembling. Not from anger. From cold. A chill rising from deep inside.

Three years. I thought I'd married a good man. Turns out, from start to finish, it was all wishful thinking on my part.