Chapter 3
On Friday afternoon, David called me one last time.
It was an unknown number since I had already blocked his.
"It's me," he said, sounding incredibly smug. "I am taking them to Willowbrook tomorrow.
"My mom's thrilled. I told her she finally has grandchildren, and she was so happy that she stayed up all night. She is even putting together a massive trust fund for the babies.
"Emily, do you see that? I'm way better off without you. I have a son and a daughter, and my family has my back.
"And what about you? What do you have? You are a divorced woman who can't even give a man a child."
I didn't say a word.
I listened to him ramble in silence, feeling like I was tuning in to a stranger's pathetic podcast.
"I am only telling you this so you understand that you ruined your own life," he said. "If you had turned a blind eye, you would still be living comfortably as my wife. Now, you have absolutely nothing."
He finished his speech and waited for my reaction.
He wanted to see me broken. He wanted to see me beg.
"Are you done?" I asked.
David was caught off guard.
I said, "Because if you are, I am hanging up. Roaming charges are expensive."
I ended the call right there and blocked that number too.
Finally, the world was quiet again.
*****
Saturday rolled around.
I could easily picture David right then, cruising down the highway in his sedan with his darling new woman and their precious twins in the back.
He was probably riding high, driving toward his bright future and his mother's endless praises.
He was definitely thinking about how stupid I was to give up such a perfect setup, convinced I would be crying myself to sleep for the rest of my life.
I fired up my laptop and got to work.
Surprisingly, the divorce changed nothing. If anything, it only made me focus.
I used to divide my attention, catering to his needs and keeping a household, but now, I lived entirely for myself.
Jessica sent me a text with a screenshot attached that afternoon.
It was Olivia's latest social media post, tagged in Willowbrook, David's hometown.
The caption read: [Finally home. David's parents are going to be so happy to see the babies.]
She'd posted a full set of nine photos packed with close-ups of the twins and a selfie of her leaning over the center console to kiss David's cheek while he drove.
Everything in the photos oozed serenity and charm. What a joke.
Jessica followed it up with a string of vomiting emojis.
Jessica: [She has absolutely no shame. This is purely to get under your skin.]
I texted back: [Ignore her. Grab some popcorn and wait for the show.]
Jessica: [Place your bets. How long until his mother absolutely loses it?]
I smiled but did not type back.
I knew David's mother, Margaret, better than anyone.
To her, her son was her whole world.
She was toxically old-fashioned, convinced that carrying on the Lane family name with an heir was the ultimate purpose of life. In her twisted reality, anything that got her a grandchild was acceptable.
Therefore, David felt untouchable. He genuinely believed that if he presented his mother with a grandchild, no matter how illegitimate, she'd welcome them both with open arms.
And a wife like me, one who couldn't bear him an heir, was meant to be phased out long ago.
He was right about one thing.
If Olivia were some random girl, Margaret probably would have swallowed her pride and accepted Olivia for the sake of the babies.
Too bad Olivia was not some random girl.
I picked up my phone, pulling up an album I had not looked at in years.
It was full of photos of Olivia and me from our college days.
One was snapped in her hometown.
We had taken it during a road trip to her hometown back when we were inseparable.
In the background of the shot, hanging on the wall of her childhood home, was an old, faded family portrait.
I zoomed in on that old photo.
The portrait showed a young woman whose features bore a striking resemblance to Olivia.
Standing right next to her was an even younger girl with braided hair, forcing a stiff smile.
I recognized that younger girl.
I had seen her face in the Lane family's vintage photo albums.
It was Margaret in her youth. And that woman who looked like Olivia was Helen Shaw, Margaret's biological sister.
Helen's very name was treated like a curse, strictly forbidden from ever being mentioned.
Olivia was Helen's daughter. Which made her Margaret's biological niece.
Olivia once confided in me, pleading with me to keep my mouth shut.
She said Margaret was deeply traditional and had disowned Helen for marrying someone outside the family's approval.
She insisted she didn't not want her family drama to cause any friction between David and me.
At the time, I actually thought she was being considerate.
Looking back, it was ridiculously naive of me.
David knew Olivia was my best friend, but he had absolutely no clue that the woman sharing his bed was the daughter of the one person his mother despised most in this world.
I locked my phone screen, poured a cup of coffee, and settled into the quiet, waiting.
The curtains were about to go up on the greatest show of the year.