Chapter 3

Elizabeth quickly composed herself. She bent down, grabbed the keys, unlocked the door, and moved aside so I could step in. "Come on in," she said.

I hesitated for a moment, then followed her inside.

The place wasn't huge, maybe around 800 square feet, but it felt cozy and welcoming.

The sofa was a soft gray, and a pot of plants sat on the coffee table. Wind chimes dangled from the balcony, and the curtains had a floral pattern.

There was a stew pot bubbling away in the kitchen, and the savory scent of soup drifted through the air.

Elizabeth set the shopping bags down on the dining table and turned to face me. "What do you want to ask?" she said.

"What exactly is your relationship with my husband?" I asked.

She gave a small smile, not a mocking one, but the kind that said, "I knew you'd ask that."

"You've seen this place," she said. "What do you think?"

"Did he buy this for you?" I asked.

"He paid the down payment, but I'm the one making the monthly payments," she replied.

"And the 5 thousand a month he gives you for living expenses? Is that real, too?" I asked.

She stayed quiet. Her silence said it all.

"How long have you two been together?" I asked.

"Over four years," she replied.

I did the math in my head.

We got married in 2019, and by 2020, he was already sending her money every month.

"Did you know about his marriage when it happened?" I asked.

"Yes, I knew," she said.

"Knowing he had a wife, you still—" I started.

"He told me things weren't good between you two," she cut me off. "That you'd end up divorced sooner or later."

I froze for a second. Things weren't good between us two? Not once did we fight in five years.

Every day I cooked for him, every week I did his laundry, and every month I organized his bills.

I always thought that was what a respectful marriage was supposed to be. But to him, that meant we had a bad relationship.

"What else did he say?" I asked.

Elizabeth looked at me, her expression hard to read.

"He said you're bossy, always have to run everything, and he felt smothered," she said.

I was bossy? I got up at five every morning just to make him breakfast, all because he couldn't stand the cafeteria food.

I never even touched his salary account. He always said guys need their own space.

I'd spend forever weighing the cost of a new dress, just because he insisted we had to plan for the future. Was I bossy to him?

"He also said," Elizabeth continued, "there's no real love between you two. You're just making do, just getting by together."

I took a deep breath.

"What about you?" I stared at her. "Do you think you two are really in love?"

She paused for a moment.

"I don't know," she said. "But he treats me well."

"How exactly?" I pressed.

"If I want something, he'll buy it for me. When I'm sick, he takes time off work to take care of me. And during holidays, he's with me—"

"Wait," I cut her off. "He spends holidays with you?"

"From the second day to the fifth day of holidays, he stays with me," she said.

It felt like my mind suddenly blew up.

From the second to the fifth day of the holidays, every year, Mike always said he was heading home to spend time with his mom.

He'd stay with me on the first day, then leave on the second, saying he had to spend a few days back home.

I always thought he was actually in his hometown. But he was here.

"And what about the first day?" I asked.

"He spends the first day with you," she said. "I don't mind."

When she said "I don't mind," her tone was almost indifferent.

It felt like I was the one who was just extra.

I stared at her for a long time, sizing her up.

She really did look young, her skin looked great, and she was well put-together. But she wasn't pretty, at least, not prettier than me.

"Why are you willing to be his mistress?" I asked.

"I don't see myself as the mistress," Elizabeth said. "Your marriage is just for show now. I'm simply waiting for him to get divorced."

"Did he actually tell you he's going to leave me?" I asked.

"He said he would, when the timing's right," she replied.

I just laughed.

"Elizabeth," I said, "we've been married for five years. Not once in all that time has he ever brought up divorce."

Her expression shifted.

"Do you know why he never brings it up?" I continued. "The house and the car are both under his name, and his salary account is off-limits to me.

"To him, I'm just a free maid, cooking, doing laundry, and cleaning up after him. Why would he ever want a divorce? Where else is he going to find someone to do all this for free?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

"All that money he spent on you," I said, "380 thousand. You really think that's because he loves you? No. That's money he took from me behind my back.

"I scrimped and saved every day, thinking he only made 2,600 dollars a month, and every cent I poured into our family. And guess what? All that money I saved went straight to you."

Her face went completely pale.

"I-I didn't know," Elizabeth mumbled.

"So you didn't know he was lying to me? Or you didn't realize the money he gave you was what I scrimped and saved?" I pushed.

She didn't answer.

Suddenly, it all just felt meaningless.

What was the point in fighting with her? She was just a clueless woman who got deceived, same as me.

I turned and headed for the door.

Right as I was about to leave, she suddenly called out, "Wait."

I turned around.

She bit her lip and said, "There's something you probably don't know."

"What is it?" I asked.

She hesitated for a moment, then said, "Did he ever mention that he gives his mom 2,600 dollars every month?"

"Yeah," I replied. Mike always told me he made 2,600 dollars a month. He gave me 1,500 and sent 1,000 to his mom. But when I checked his bank statements, I found out he was actually transferring 2,600 to her.

Elizabeth said, "Half of it was actually for me."

I was stunned.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"He sends 2,600 dollars to his mom every month, but she only keeps 1,300 dollars. She takes out the other 1,300 dollars and gives it to me," Elizabeth said.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because he was worried you'd check his bank records," Elizabeth said. "So he had his mom help him cover up the money. That way, even if you saw the transfers, you'd just assume he was being a good son."

My head was spinning. His mom knew. She'd always known.

Not only did she know, but she actually helped him funnel the money to Elizabeth.

Four years passed. I always thought Mike's mother, Avery Quinn, seemed nice to me.

Every holiday, she'd slip me a gift and say, "Thanks a lot."

But it was all just for show.

She'd praise me for working hard, but meanwhile, she was secretly helping her son bankroll his mistress.

"Is there anything else?" My voice was trembling.

Elizabeth looked at me, hesitating again. "Do you really want to know?" she asked.

"Go on," I said.

She took a deep breath and said, "I have a kid."