Chapter 2

When Henry and I first got together, he was flat broke.

Our first meal together cost 32 dollars. He paid, and as soon as I got back to my dorm, I sent him 16 dollars.

He accepted it right away and even praised me for being so considerate.

After that, whether it was rent, groceries, or trips, we always split everything down the middle. Whoever paid first, the other would send over half.

Henry always said, "If you want a relationship to last, you have to keep the money straight."

I thought he had a point.

Henry's parents died when he was young, so his grandma was the one who raised him.

The first time I met her, she slipped six apples into my bag. At the door, she whispered, "Henry's got a stubborn streak. Be patient with him. If he ever gives you a hard time, come tell me."

Later, when his grandma had a stroke and ended up in a nursing home, Henry was swamped with his startup. All the hospital runs, finding caregivers, and handling the paperwork, those all ended up on me.

Samantha was always there, going with me every time.

She was my college roommate, and after my mom passed away, she was the only one who stayed up all night with me.

The day of my mom's funeral, I was so sick I couldn't even stand up at the cemetery gate. Samantha crouched beside me, rubbing my back, crying as she said, "Grace, from now on, I'm your real sister. If you ever need anything, come to me first."

Later, I introduced Henry to Samantha.

The first time she met Henry, she teased me, "You better keep an eye on him. Once Henry gets rich, who knows how many girls will be lining up for him."

The three of us grabbed snacks from street vendors together, and crammed into a stuffy apartment with no AC.

When Henry scored his first investment, he took us out for buffet, 60 bucks a head. But when the bill came, he still sent me the receipt and made me split it with him.

Samantha laughed, "Seriously? You keep things this strict even with your girlfriend?"

Henry shrugged, "She actually prefers it. Keeping the money straight is how you make it last."

I chimed in to back him up, "Honestly, I like it this way. I don't want to rely on him for everything."

When Henry's grandma had her first surgery, he was out of town meeting with investors.

The hospital was demanding a 40,000-dollar deposit. Henry was silent on the phone for a long time before finally saying, "All my money's tied up in the company."

I took out a loan using the house my mom left me, and hit up a few coworkers for some cash, just to scrape together enough to pay the deposit.

Grandma came out of surgery at four in the morning. I crashed on a bench in the hallway for ten minutes, then dragged myself to work as soon as the sun came up.

When Henry finally got back, he pulled me into his arms and said, "Grace, I swear I'll never let you down."

Samantha stood beside us, her eyes red, and said, "Henry, if you ever hurt her, I'll be the first one to call you out."

I never imagined that in the end, it would be the two of them who would betray me together.

After Henry started his business, his income soared, but my salary barely moved. We still went fifty-fifty on everything. After a $700 dinner, he'd text me the bill as we headed home.

If I couldn't swing it, I'd just skip it.

He never pushed me. He'd just say, "It's fine to do what you can."

I always thought that was what respect looked like.

But when I saw the necklace around Samantha's neck, the diamond ring on her finger, and that 230,000-dollar gold necklace for the baby, I finally realized Henry wasn't just about splitting the bill.

He'd jump at the chance to pick up the tab, just not for me.

The night before my abortion, Samantha sent me a bed photo of her and Henry for the first time.

In the picture, Henry was lying next to her, and on his left shoulder was a scar I knew all too well. He got it from a bike crash back in college; I spent two weeks tending to his wound.

I texted her, asking what the hell the photo was supposed to mean.

She didn't reply. Instead, she sent over two marriage certificates, one for each of them.

Official stamps, registration numbers, dates, every detail was there, nothing missing.

The registration date was two years ago.

That day, Henry was actually with me, celebrating our six-year anniversary. He said something came up at work and left me waiting alone at the restaurant for two hours.

Little did I know, those two hours he was gone, he was off marrying Samantha.

After the marriage certificates, she sent over the baby's birth certificate and a video from the delivery room.

In the video, Henry was holding the newborn, and he couldn't stop smiling.

When I was four months pregnant, he never came with me to my first prenatal appointment. I wanted him to hear the baby's heartbeat with me, but he was busy looking over some contract and just told me, "Just record it yourself."

Samantha sent me one last voice message.

"Are you finally getting it? It's not that he doesn't want to get married, or that he hates kids

"He just doesn't want any of that with you."

I called Henry.

Once, twice, seventeen times.

He never picked up.

Later, I found out he thought Samantha was just going to send me a few fake photos to test me.

He had no clue she'd sent me the actual marriage certificate, the baby's birth certificate, and even photos of them together in bed.

But none of that changed anything.

Henry signed the marriage certificate himself, and watched his own child come into the world.

Who was I supposed to explain it to?

Was I supposed to prove to the ones who stabbed me in the back that I never betrayed him?

Of course, I had eight years' worth of photos, rental agreements, and chat records.

But all that could prove was that we used to be together; not that I was clueless about him getting married behind my back.

If Henry just claimed, "We broke up a long time ago," all those old photos would just look like proof I kept chasing after him.

The only one who could vouch for my innocence was standing right there, holding his and Samantha's baby, forcing me to confess.

Even if I tried to explain, what difference would it make?

That afternoon, a used car dealer came by the hospital to check out my car. I'd had it for five years, and Henry had scraped the door once when he was backing up. In the end, I only got 80,000 dollars for it.

As soon as the dealer left, HR called.

"Grace, that video's causing way too much trouble. The company's putting you on leave for now," she said.

"What about this month's salary?" I asked.

"We'll have to wait for the investigation. Just take care of your personal business first," she said.

Then she hung up.

There was only 25,000 dollars left in the account I'd been saving for our wedding.

Most of the money I'd put in six years ago had ended up helping pay for Grandma's nursing care and covering that 40,000-dollar loan. I always thought I'd make up for it later with my work bonus, so I never mentioned it to Henry.

After selling the car and adding what was left in savings, I had 106,000 dollars to my name.

I was still 19,000 dollars short of the 125,000 I owed, and I had no idea where I'd get the 3,000 dollars for the hospital bill.

I called up a coworker I used to be close with.

She picked up right away, but as soon as she heard I needed to borrow money, she went silent.

"Grace, it's not that I don't want to help you," she said.

"But that video of yours is everywhere now. My husband saw it, and he told me not to talk to you anymore."

"I'll write you an IOU," I said.

"Grace, it's not about the IOU. How did you let things get this bad?" she said.

She hung up on me.

I messaged seven more people from my contacts.

Three didn't reply, two said they were strapped for cash, and one just asked: [Is this about paying compensation to Henry's wife?]

Before I could even figure out how to reply, she sent another text: [Sorry, I can't lend you money for something like that. It's just asking for trouble.]

The last person sent me 100 dollars, with a note: [Keep it. Don't pay me back. And don't ever contact me again.]

I returned the money without hesitation.

The next call I made was to my aunt Genevieve.

She was my mother's only sister.

She didn't even let me finish before she started yelling, "When your mother passed, she entrusted you to me, not so you could end up as the other woman in someone else's marriage!"

"Aunt Genevieve, I didn't," I started.

But the words caught in my throat.

She got even angrier. "You already admitted it in public, and now you're trying to lie to me?"

"Your mom was always so proud; if she knew you did something like this, she'd never rest in peace."

I just held my phone, totally speechless.

In the end, Genevieve didn't lend me a cent.

She told me not to reach out to her anymore; she didn't want my mess getting back to my cousin's in-laws.

After hanging up, I logged into my account.

The apology video had already blown up with thousands of comments.

People dug through my profile, found my mom's photo, and started leaving comments.

[Hey, lady, did you know your daughter snatched someone else's husband?]

[No wonder she's like this. Guess nobody ever taught her right.]

[If your mom saw this, she'd be so mad she'd come back to life just to curse you out.]

I made that post private, and after that I was the only one who could see it.

Less than a minute later, Samantha sent me another message.

[The settlement agreement says you can't delete the apology video or any related posts for a month. If you hide it, I'll take you right back to court.]

I stared at the screen for ages, but in the end, I could only set it back to public.

My mom left me a diamond necklace.

She never wore it herself, always said she'd save it for my wedding, so she could make it even more special for me.

I sent it off to the pawnshop and got 11,000 dollars for it.

For the rest, I had to take a cash advance from my credit card.

The screen popped up with a warning about the interest, but I just hit confirm without a second thought.

Every single dollar in that account, I could remember exactly what I'd planned to spend it on: the wedding banquet, my wedding dress, the down payment for our first home, and the first year after the baby was born.

In the end, even my mom's necklace ended up being used to pay off his wife.

At six that evening, I transferred 125,000 dollars to Samantha.

She sent me a screenshot of the payment right away. [You still owe me a public apology.]

I just posted it to my feed, word for word from her template.

[I admit I got between Henry and Samantha, hurt her and her family, paid what I owed, and I won't ever reach out to Henry again.]

As soon as I hit post, the comments started blowing up.

College friends, old coworkers, even people I barely remembered from a wedding all jumped in with questions.

[Wait, is this for real?]

[Didn't you and Henry break up forever ago?]

[Wasn't Samantha your bestie back in the day?]

I didn't reply.

Samantha took a screenshot of my apology and dropped it into our college group chat.

The chat went dead silent for a few minutes.

Then, someone kicked me out of the group.

Henry sent me a message.

[I'm not done digging into those one million dollars.]

I stared at the screen for a long time, then just replied: [Fine.]