Chapter 2
The next morning, I didn't go home.
Instead, I went to the bank.
Our joint account had 147,000 dollars in it. I checked my own account. After all these years, I only had a little over 7,000 dollars left.
David made 9,300 dollars a month, not counting his housing allowance. He sent me 4,000 dollars every month for household expenses. I never asked where the rest of the money went.
Sitting in the bank lobby, I texted my college friend Jessica Lane.
Jessica worked at a law firm, handling divorce cases.
I texted: [Got a minute? Let's grab lunch. I need to ask you something.]
She replied instantly: [Divorce?]
I typed back: [Yeah.]
She sent me her location.
By noon, I was in her office, spilling everything that happened last night.
Jessica leaned back in her chair. "Do you have any proof?"
"Nothing definitive," I admitted.
"Then your top priority is to get evidence," Jessica said.
She counted off on her fingers. "Hotel records, bank transfers, chat logs, witnesses. Go home and pretend nothing happened, but pay attention to everything he does."
"I already told him I wanted a divorce yesterday," I said.
Jessica sighed. "Then it all depends on his next move. If he's panicked, he's going to come crawling back begging for a second chance. That's your window to catch him slipping."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because he'll think the worst is over. He'll assume you're just venting, and while he's busy trying to play the doting husband, he'll get sloppy and leave a trail," Jessica explained.
I lowered my head, thinking it over.
"One more thing," Jessica added, her eyes locking onto mine. "Think about your daughter. She's only three. Since you're not working right now, he'll try to weaponize his income during the custody mediation. You need to start building a war chest."
I clenched my fingers.
"I want to get Lily registered for preschool near my mom's place while there's still an open slot in their program," I said.
Jessica nodded. "Smart move. Get your daughter settled first, then take care of the rest step by step."
After leaving Jessica's office, I just sat there in my car for ten minutes.
David texted again: [Claire, please come home. Let's just talk. I know I handled last night terribly, but you're getting the wrong idea.]
I replied with just a single word: [Okay.]
I was heading back.
But it wasn't to fix us.
When I got home, David was sitting in the living room.
There was a bouquet of lilies on the coffee table, my old favorite flowers.
He stood up as soon as he saw me walk in, his face wearing that practiced, guilty look.
"Claire, I was wrong yesterday. I shouldn't have brought someone home without telling you first," he said.
I changed into my slippers and sat down on the other end of the couch.
"So, what's really going on between you and Emily?" I asked.
"She's just a colleague. Seriously, that's all," he said, moving closer and trying to take my hand. "She did come over once before. We had a late-night meeting, and she just stopped by to grab a USB drive on her way home."
"So grabbing a USB drive requires plastic wrap now?" I shot back.
"She was just lending a hand," David said.
"She just happened to reach right for the third drawer?" I pressed.
David paused, then tried another excuse. "Maybe I mentioned it to her before."
"Why would you even tell her where we keep the plastic wrap?" I asked.
He was at a loss for words.
I just looked at him and didn't press him any further.
"Fine, I won't ask anymore. But hand me your phone," I said.
He stiffened for a moment.
"What do you want to see?" he asked.
"Your chat history. With Emily," I said.
"Claire, you don't trust me," he protested.
"So your idea of making me trust you is refusing to let me see your phone?" I shot back.
He hesitated for five seconds, then finally pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to me.
I took it, but the fingerprint unlock didn't work. He'd changed the password.
He reached over and tapped the screen, unlocking it.
I opened his messaging app and searched for Emily.
Nothing.
I tried searching for "Emily."
Still nothing.
I searched for the lemon emoji.
Nothing.
He'd wiped all the chat history clean.
I slammed the phone down on the coffee table.
"So you completely wiped the thread?" I asked.
"Wiped what? I didn't—" David stammered.
"David," I cut him off.
"You deleted every single text between you two. You even erased her number. You've spent the entire morning scrambling to scrub the evidence," I said.
He swallowed hard, his throat clicking.
"I didn't delete anything, I was just cleaning up some old work groups," he mumbled.
"Alright," I said, standing up. "Then show me your call log."
He froze solid.
"You do realize I can pull up the itemized usage logs online anytime I want, right?" I said.
He still didn't utter a word.
I marched into the bedroom and began shoving Lily's clothes into a bag.
David shadowed me into the room. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm taking Lily to my mom's place for the week," I said.
"Why?" he asked.
"I don't want her to see you bringing other women home again," I said.
His face turned red. "Seriously, Claire! Enough already!"
I didn't pause for a second. I kept stuffing Lily's bottle, her bedtime storybook, and her little blanket into the bag.
David said, "Can you just calm down? Are you seriously blowing this up over a drawer?"
I slung the bag over my shoulder and headed for the door, then turned to face him.
"David, you have exactly two choices: pull up your itemized phone bill right now, or get ready to be served at your desk," I said.
I shut the door right in his face.