Chapter 2

The next day was Thursday.

David left at seven in the morning, saying he had an early meeting at work.

I didn't say anything.

After dropping Alex off at kindergarten, I didn't go straight to work. I went to the bank instead.

"How can I help you today, ma'am?" the teller asked.

"I need to check the transaction history," I said. "It's my husband's account, and I'm a joint account holder."

The transaction history they printed out was a thick stack.

I found a quiet corner and started flipping through the pages, one by one.

Daily expenses looked normal.

Salary deposits, six thousand dollars a month, nothing out of the ordinary.

Then I spotted a transfer. I paused.

I saw a two‑thousand‑dollar transfer, no memo attached, made out to Winona.

I kept flipping through the pages.

Two thousand, one thousand, three thousand, four thousand, all sent to the same person.

I counted twelve transactions in the last three months alone, totaling seventeen thousand dollars.

'Seventeen thousand dollars?' I thought.

David gave me five thousand dollars a month, saying the rest was for business dinners, transportation, and credit card bills.

So that was what he called business dinners.

I took out my phone and took a picture. Then I kept flipping through the pages.

Over six months, there were thirty-one transfers, and over the year, forty-seven, with a total of 60,000 dollars.

60,000 dollars.

I was scrimping and saving for Alex's formula and diapers, stretching every dollar. And he transferred 60,000 dollars to Winona.

I took a deep breath, stuffed the bank statements in my bag, and walked out of the bank.

On my way to work, I opened the ride-hailing app.

Since David's ride-hailing account was linked to our family, I could track all his trips.

In the past month, he'd taken twenty-three rides. Nineteen of those trips all went to the same complex, Silverbrook Residences.

It was a luxury development where apartments went for ten thousand dollars a square foot.

I pulled up one of his rides; it was last Saturday at three in the afternoon.

He told me he was meeting a client that day. But he went to Silverbrook Residences instead?

I tapped on another one, Wednesday night, two weeks ago, at eight.

He said he was working overtime that night. But he went to Silverbrook Residences, too.

I leaned back in my seat, staring at the screen. 'Ben was right,' I thought. 'David really does have a place he keeps going back to.'

When I got to the office, I forced myself to focus on work. But my mind was stuck on those numbers. 60,000 dollars. Forty-seven transfers. Nineteen trips.

During lunch break, Ben texted me: [Selena, I found out. Winona lives in Building 3 at Silverbrook Residences.]

Me: [How do you know that?]

Ben: [I have a friend working in property management. Also, David bought her parking spot.]

I stared at the screen, not replying for a long moment.

Me: [He even bought her a parking spot?]

Ben: [Yeah, 130,000 dollars.]

130,000 dollars for the parking space, plus 60,000 in transfers, totaling 190,000 dollars.

When we got married, the down payment on our place was 200,000 dollars. My parents gave me 100,000 dollars, and I put in 30,000 dollars from five years of saving. David covered the remaining 70,000 dollars.

And then he spent 190,000 dollars on a parking spot and cash transfers for another woman.

Ben: [Selena, are you okay?]

Me: [I'm fine. Really, thank you, Ben.]

Ben: [No problem. Let me know if you need anything.]

I set my phone down, stood up, and walked to the break room.

Outside the window, the city's skyscrapers stretched into the gray sky. The sky was so overcast that I couldn't see the buildings in the distance.

I remembered our wedding day. David stood there in a white suit, looking me in the eye and promising, "Selena, I'll treat you right for the rest of your life."

I believed him. I was stupid enough to believe him for five whole years.

I believed when he said he was working late, it was really overtime. I believed his business dinners were really business dinners. I believed him when he said he was broke.

"Selena?" Mike Foster, a coworker, walked in. "You look a bit pale. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." I forced a smile. "Didn't sleep well last night."

"You should head home early and get some rest." Mike poured himself a glass of water. "By the way, your husband's in sales, right? I heard his company's doing really well this year."

"Yeah," I replied.

"Then his year-end bonus must be pretty good," Mike said with a laugh. "My wife keeps nagging me to switch jobs, saying sales pays way better."

I held my glass, saying nothing. 'High salary,' I thought. 'Yeah, he really does make a lot. Six thousand dollars a month, 72,000 dollars a year.

'But he only gave me and Alex 60,000 dollars a year. So where did the other 12,000 dollars go?'

Plus that 190,000 dollars, and I suddenly wondered how much he had given Winona.