Chapter 3

When did those two actually start their thing?

I could never figure it out before, but now, as I look back, bits and pieces are starting to surface.

It was 2001, our third year of marriage. One night, Linda said she was heading to a college reunion, and came home really late, she reeked of smoke.

I asked her what happened, and she just said it was someone smoking at the restaurant.

Then, in 2005, two years later, Henry started kindergarten, and Linda got herself a new job working as an accountant at some trading firm.

Turns out, the boss there was Peter.

It wasn't until the day everything blew up in my previous life that I finally put all the pieces together.

But now, looking back, it was all so obvious.

She was "working" at Peter's company, right under my nose, out in the open.

I took a deep breath and started the car again.

When I got home, Linda was in the living room, gently rocking Emily.

"You're back," she said, looking up with a smile. "Hungry? My mom made some pork rib soup."

"Not really," I said, kicking off my shoes and sitting down next to her, my eyes on the baby in her arms.

"Linda," I said.

"Yeah?" she replied.

"That job you said you had at Peter's company, are you still doing that?" I asked.

She froze for just a heartbeat, the question catching her off guard.

But she quickly covered it up, lowering her head to tuck Emily's blanket as if nothing had happened.

"Yeah, I'm still there. Why?" she asked.

"Just wondering. The economy's been rough lately, and I was worried his company might not be stable," I said.

"Don't worry, Peter's company is doing fine. The supply chain's solid," she replied.

When she said Peter's name, her tone was calm and steady, like it meant nothing special to her.

Back then, hearing her talk like that would've just made me feel at ease, my wife had a job, and that was a good thing.

But now, each word felt like a tiny blade carving into my heart.

"That's good," I said with a smile, getting up from the couch. "I'll go check on Henry's homework."

"Alright. Oh, and next week, Peter's company has an event, so I might have to work overtime for a few days," Linda said.

With my back to her, my steps faltered for a second.

"Okay," I replied.

Overtime, huh.

I gave a cold laugh.

Before heading into Henry's room, I stood in the hallway for three seconds.

I clenched my fists, then slowly unclenched them.

Three days.

Just have to tough it out for three days.

Once I get the results, then I'll figure out my next move.

I pushed open the door.

Henry was sitting on the floor, working on a puzzle. When he saw me come in, he looked up and grinned.

"Dad! Look, I'm almost done!" he said.

I crouched down, picked up a piece, and helped him fit it into place.

"Smart kid," I said.

Henry giggled.

The way the boy smiled... he really didn't look like me.

But the bond from these eight years was real.

Blood or not, this time I was not going to take my anger out on him the way I had before.

It's Linda I want to ruin.

And Peter.

Not this eight-year-old who calls me "Dad."

*****

Three days later.

I was in a meeting at work when David called.

Under the table, my phone lit up, and David's name popped up on the screen.

I answered, whispered to my coworker, "I need to take this," and stepped out into the hallway.

In the hallway, I held the phone to my ear.

"The results are in," David said, his voice low.

"Tell me," I said.

"The combined paternity index is less than 0.0001. Paternity is excluded, you're not the father," David said.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.

It was what I expected.

But hearing those words still made my stomach clench.

The rage and grief from my past life crashed into the calm I'd built in this one, churning inside my chest.

"Michael?" David called from the other end.

"I'm here," I said.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Better than I thought I'd be," I said, opening my eyes, my voice steady. "I expected this."

There was a pause on the other end.

"The bank records you asked me to check? I've got something for you," David said.

"Tell me," I said.

"There's a bank account in your wife's name that you had no idea about, opened at a local community bank. for three years, every month there's been a transfer between about 1,700 and 2,700 dollars, all coming from a company called Grantwell Trading."

Grantwell Trading.

Peter's company.

About 1,700 to 2,700 dollars a month for three years, at least 67,000 dollars.

And that's just the money we can actually track.

"And there's more," David continued. "There are a few big-ticket purchases on that card: two at jewelry stores, one at a high-end beauty salon, and a 20,000-dollar transfer to a personal account under the name Peter."

20,000 dollars. I remember.

Back around the holidays in 2004, Linda told me her mom was hospitalized and needed money for treatment, so she asked me to lend her 20,000 dollars.

I gave it to her without a second thought.

So that's where the money went, to Peter.