Chapter 2

The cab crawled through the evening rush hour traffic.

I leaned back in the seat, my phone buzzing continuously.

Michael's calls came in one after another.

I chose not to answer.

By the tenth call, the driver spoke up. "Hey, ma'am, aren't you going to pick up? The caller seems pretty desperate."

I muttered, "It's fine." Then I silenced my phone and tossed it onto my lap.

My WhatsApp notifications were relentless.

Michael: [Where are you?]

Michael: [Emily, where did you run off to?]

Michael: [Stop messing around. I can't find you.]

Michael: [If you have something to say, say it. Why do you have to scare me like this?]

I stared at the messages, my face blank.

Scare him? I was seven months pregnant, and he left me stranded at the service area for two hours while he was off picking up his side chick. He didn't even bother to call me once.

But now that he couldn't find me, he was suddenly freaking out.

My phone buzzed again.

This time, it was Margaret calling.

I hesitated for a second and then picked up.

"Emmy, where did you run off to? Mike is worried sick," Margaret said, her voice shrill and anxious.

"I'm going back to downtown," I replied.

"This is reckless. He told you to wait at the service area. How could you leave on your own? What if something happened to—" Margaret snapped.

"I'm fine," I interrupted. "I really am. Don't worry about me."

"Why are you acting so immature? Mike was only being a good guy, helping out a coworker. Can't you try to understand him for once?" Margaret insisted.

I closed my eyes. "Margaret, I'm tired. I'm hanging up now."

"You—" Margaret started.

I hung up and blocked her number.

Then Michael called me.

I stared at his name lighting up my screen and then turned off my phone.

At last, everything was quiet.

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, as if he wanted to say something but held back.

"Hey, can you step on it a bit?" I asked.

"It's rush hour. I wish I could go faster," the driver said with a sigh. "Look, every family's got their own mess. You're so far along. Whatever is going on, talk it out. Don't let it get to you."

I didn't respond.

Finally, we exited the highway and entered downtown.

I provided the driver with the address of a café near Charlotte's law firm.

*****

Half an hour later, the cab stopped in front of the café.

I paid the driver and struggled to get out of the vehicle.

As I steadied myself, a voice called out from behind me. "Emmy!"

I turned around to see Charlotte Evans stepping out of a white car.

She looked as she always did with short, neat hair and a sharp business suit. Her high heels clicked as she walked.

Charlotte rushed to me, assessing me from head to toe. "Geez, you look ready to give birth!"

"In two months," I said, rubbing my belly.

Charlotte's face turned serious. "Let's go inside and talk."

Inside the café, it was quiet, and we were the only two by the window.

Charlotte ordered me a cup of hot milk and chose an Americano for herself.

"Alright, spill it. What's going on?" she asked.

I held the warm cup in my hands and told her the whole story about what happened at the service area.

I detailed the transfer records, the Twitter post, and his increasing emotional distance.

With each word, Charlotte's expression grew more serious.

"What a jerk," she said, taking a big gulp of her coffee. "So, you're considering a divorce now?"

"Yeah." I nodded. "But I want custody of the child, and what's rightfully mine."

"What about the apartment? Did you buy it before or after you got married?" she inquired.

"After we got married. We paid the mortgage together, but my parents contributed 100 thousand for the down payment," I explained.

I pulled a small notebook from my bag and handed it to her. "I've tracked every household expense and mortgage payment over the years. It's all here."

Charlotte flipped through the notebook, her eyes lighting up. "You actually kept all this?"

"Old habits die hard," I replied with a wry smile. "I worked in finance before, and maintaining records became second nature. Even after getting married, I never stopped."

Charlotte kept flipping through the notebook, nodding now and then. "Good. This is solid evidence."

She closed the notebook and looked up at me. "Emmy, are you certain you want to go through with this?"

"I'm sure," I said, my voice calm. "I've been thinking about it the whole way here. There's nothing left worth holding onto in this marriage."

"What about the baby?" she asked.

"I'll raise the baby myself," I said, rubbing my belly. "I don't want my child growing up in a loveless home."

Charlotte paused for a few seconds before saying, "Alright, I'll help you."

She took out her phone and opened a notes app. "From now on, you need to do a few things for me.

"First, keep every transfer record, chat log, and call recording. Don't let any evidence of his cheating slip through your fingers.

"Second, you should move out. Either stay with your parents or find a hotel room. Keep your distance from him and avoid any direct conflict.

"Third, don't confront him when you're upset. We must be strategic and wait for the right moment to unveil everything."

I made a mental note of each point. "So, when is the best time to make my move?"

Charlotte considered for a moment. "Wait until after you have the baby and get better. That way, you can fully engage in the lawsuit without worrying about your health."

"Two more months," I murmured.

"Can you still live with that?" Charlotte asked, concern etched on her face.

I recalled those two hours spent stuck at the service area, Michael's impatient glare, and Margaret always covering for him. "Yes."

I looked up, my gaze steady. "I've put up with this for so long. Two more months isn't a big deal."

Charlotte squeezed my hand. "From today onward, I will be your lawyer. If anything happens, contact me right away."

"Okay." I nodded. "Thank you, Charlotte."

"No need to thank me," Charlotte said with a grin. "Back in college, you helped me with calculus countless times. Now it's my turn to support you."

For the first time that day, I smiled, feeling genuine warmth.

I turned my phone on.

Suddenly, it began buzzing.

My screen lit up with numerous unread messages from Michael.

The latest message was from five minutes ago.

Michael: [Where are you? I'm calling the police.]

I stared at the message, a cold smile forming on my lips.

Calling the police? That was exactly what I wanted.

I switched on the recorder and called Michael.

After three rings, he picked up.

"Emily, where the hell are you?" Michael's voice was full of rage.

I put him on speaker and set my phone down on the table.

Charlotte got the hint and started recording on her phone, too.

"I'm in downtown," I said, my voice flat.

"Are you out of your mind? Do you even realize how far along you are? What if something happens—" Michael snapped.

"I'm fine, and so is the baby," I said, cutting him off. "But you? How was your little rescue mission for your female coworker?"

He suddenly went silent on the other side of the line.

A few moments passed before Michael spoke up again, his voice clearly guilty. "What are you talking about? She's a coworker. Her car broke down, and I was helping her on my way."

"On your way?" I scoffed. "Driving 12 miles in the opposite direction from the service area is what you call 'on your way'?"

"Emily, stop being so unreasonable," he retorted, his voice filled with frustration and desperation. "Tell me where you are, and I'll come get you."

"No need," I said coldly. "Michael, let's talk."

"About what?" he shot back.

"About our marriage," I declared, staring into the night while ensuring he heard each word. "And about you and Sophia Lane."

On the other end, there was a gasping sound.

It didn't belong to Michael. It came from a woman.

Sophia was still in his car.

I stopped the recording and ended the call.

Charlotte gave me a thumbs-up. "Nice work."

I saved the recording and sent it directly to her inbox.

My phone buzzed again.

This time, it was a WhatsApp message from Michael.

Michael: [Emmy, please, let me explain.]

Michael: [There's nothing between Sophia and me. We're only coworkers.]

Michael: [Don't overthink it. You're the only one I love.]

I stared at the messages. Suddenly, everything felt like a cruel joke.

Was I overthinking? I saw his money transfers. The Twitter post was evident, and his guilty tone was obvious on the phone.

Did he truly think I was a fool?

I didn't bother replying. I stuffed my phone back into my bag.

"So, what's next?" I asked Charlotte.

"Next, you should go stay with your parents," Charlotte replied. "I'll draft the divorce papers, and after you have the baby in two months, we can file for divorce."

"Alright," I said as I stood up. "I'll head back now."

"I'll give you a ride," Charlotte said, reaching for her car keys.

"No, I'll take a cab. You have your own things to handle," I insisted.

"I'll wait until you're in the cab," Charlotte said.

We walked out of the café, and Charlotte flagged down a cab for me.

When I got in, my phone buzzed again.

It was a voice message from Margaret.

I hit play, and her voice came through, shrill and grating.

"Emily, what the hell are you doing? Mike is losing his mind. You're carrying the Reed family's heir. If you do anything stupid, you'll have me to deal with," she yelled.

I listened to the voice message with an expressionless face before deleting it.

Then, I sent her a message. [Margaret, the baby will take my last name Summers.]

After hitting send, I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes.