Chapter 2

I didn't sleep a wink that night.

At seven the next morning, just as I was about to head out for work, I realized the door lock had changed again.

I couldn't believe it. It had actually changed again.

Last night, it was a black panel, but this morning it had turned silver-gray.

Even the handle was facing a different direction.

I stood at the door, staring at the new lock, and a chill ran down my spine.

Mary poked her head out of the kitchen, acting like nothing was wrong. "Oh, Mr. Bennett said the old lock was slow to recognize, so he had a locksmith come by in the middle of the night to replace it."

I turned to her. "In the middle of the night?"

"Yeah," she said with a smile. "You were out cold, so you didn't notice."

Charles had already left for work.

My mother-in-law, Peggy, was watching TV in the guest room, and when she heard us talking, she deliberately turned up the volume.

Suddenly, I felt like an outsider who had stumbled into someone else's life.

I pulled out my phone and snapped a shot of the lock.

Mary's face immediately darkened. "Why are you taking pictures of things around the house?"

I looked at her and gave her a slow smile. "Do I need your permission to take a picture of my own door lock?"

She was momentarily speechless, her expression soured.

That noon, I skipped work and went straight to the property management office.

The manager flipped through the access records, his expression hard to read. "Mrs. Bennett, your family has changed the lock several times lately."

"How many times?" I asked.

He rubbed his nose. "Five times in the past two weeks."

My palms went cold.

He said, "The locksmith registered every time, and it was your husband who signed for it."

"Five times?" I stared at him. "Why wasn't I notified even once?"

The manager gave an awkward smile. "Mr. Bennett said he's handling things at home, and since you're busy with work, he didn't want to disturb you."

After I heard that, my chest felt heavy and clogged, like someone had stuffed it with wet cotton.

Back in my car, I sat there for ten minutes before finally calling Olivia Grant.

Olivia was my college roommate, now a lawyer. She was tough and always spoke her mind.

Once I finished, she just asked me one question. "Who owns the house?"

"I bought it outright before the wedding. It's mine," I said.

"Then why are you still taking this?" Olivia sneered over the phone. "Wanda, he's not just changing the locks. He's seeing how far you'll back down."

I stayed silent.

Olivia pressed, "Has he made you sign anything lately?"

I remembered last week, when Charles handed me a form. He said it was just a spousal acknowledgment for the new medical device startup he and his buddy launched, and told me to sign it, like it was nothing.

I gave it a quick look and saw there was an extra page about pledging shares hidden inside, so I decided not to sign.

"Yes," I replied.

Olivia was silent for a couple of seconds. "Listen up, from now on, document everything at home with photos—the lock, any packages, people coming and going, call records—everything. Save every bit of evidence.

"And don't pick a fight with Charles.

"When things get tricky, that's when you need to play dumb."

I stared out the windshield and slowly tightened my grip on the steering wheel. "Okay."

*****

That night, I got home earlier than usual.

As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I heard a child's laughter ringing from inside, clear and bubbling with happiness.

I froze in place.

The next moment, the door flew open, and a little boy, maybe four or five years old, rushed out clutching a remote-controlled car, nearly crashing into me.

He froze for a moment when he saw me, then automatically stepped back. "Grandma, there's a lady at the door."

Grandma?

Mary rushed over from inside, and her expression shifted in a flash as she grabbed the boy and pulled him back. "Who told you to come out? Get back inside."

I stood my ground, my eyes growing colder with every second. "Didn't you say he was your nephew?"

Mary's lips parted, but she was too flustered to respond.

Just then, Charles called out from the living room. "Tommy, who's at the door?"

Moments later, a woman got up from the sofa in my living room.

She was dressed in a beige knit sweater, her hair down, and she was holding the mug I always used.

She was the owner of the clothes I'd seen in the walk-in closet.

She froze for a second when she saw me.

But in just a heartbeat, she regained her composure.

It wasn't the panic of a stranger caught off guard. It was the calm of someone who'd been here plenty of times before.

Charles walked over to the door, and for the first time, his expression really changed. "Wanda, why are you home so early?"

I looked at him, and suddenly, all of this felt absurd.

Why did coming home to my own place always feel like I was conducting a surprise inspection?

I turned to the woman. "Who are you?"

She didn't answer and just shot Charles a look.

Charles stepped forward, blocking me from her. "Her name is Jessica Lynd. She's a client of mine. She brought her kid in for a follow-up at the hospital and dropped by for a while."

I laughed. "Dropped by at my house, huh?"

"The kid's got a fever, and it's way too hot outside," Charles said, his tone getting impatient. "Can you not make a scene the moment you walk in?"

I fixed my gaze on Tommy, the little boy.

His skin was flawless, and he had a straight nose and a pair of beautiful eyes. At first glance, he looked just like that childhood photo of Charles by Peggy's bedside.

Whenever he pressed his lips together, the right corner would turn down ever so slightly.

I'd seen that look a thousand times.