Chapter 3
It was the fifteenth day of lockdown.
Damien started making frequent phone calls, not to me, but to his mom.
Every time, after dinner, Chiara would grab her phone, head into the bedroom, and close the door behind her.
I didn't bother eavesdropping anymore. There was no need. After all, I already knew what mattered.
I found out online that Damien had another commercial property under his name.
We bought it after we got married, with a down payment of 100 thousand, and 60 thousand of that was from me. But the document was only in his name.
He told me, "It's easier to get a loan if it's just one name. I'll add you later."
Three years went by, and he never did.
I checked the ownership of the place. It had already been transferred.
The transfer happened two months ago. The buyer was a company called Lumina Eternal Properties.
I didn't even need to check. I already knew who was behind it.
The commercial property was worth 600 thousand on the market. But he sold it to Linnea's company for only 320 thousand. That was almost half off.
And then there was the 148 thousand dollars he'd already transferred out of our joint account.
In total, Damien had taken more than 460 thousand from our marriage.
All I had left was 1,200 dollars and an apartment with a mortgage still hanging over it.
That afternoon, Damien sent me a document. It was a PDF. Right at the top, in bold letters, it read: [Divorce Agreement.]
I started reading through it, line by line.
The apartment would be mine, along with a monthly mortgage payment of 1,200 dollars.
Damien wouldn't have to pay any debts, including the credit card he opened under my name.
We'd each keep our own assets, which meant he wasn't giving back any of the money he'd already taken.
There were no child support issues. That was the only honest line in the whole thing.
The last line read: [Catherine agrees to sign and return this agreement within seven days.]
He was out there in the southern hemisphere, wrapped around Linnea under the blazing sun, and all I got was seven days to sign away my future.
I set my phone down on the table.
Chiara was suddenly standing behind me. I hadn't even noticed her come in.
"You saw it?" she asked, her voice flat.
"Yeah," I replied.
"Sign it," she said.
I turned to look at her.
She was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, her expression said she'd already figured out what to say.
"Catherine, let me be blunt," Chiara said. "Damien's heart isn't with you anymore. Holding on to him is pointless."
"Mrs. Sloane, are you aware he transferred all the money from our joint account to Linnea?" I pressed.
Her eyes flickered for a moment, but she quickly pulled herself together.
"That's Linnea making an investment," Chiara replied.
"And you know he sold the store on Peacin Road to Linnea's company for way below market value, right?" I pressed.
"That's Damien's business," Chiara said.
"I put up 60 thousand for the down payment." I reminded her.
Chiara lifted her chin. "Weren't you a broke student before you married Damien? You've been living off him all these years. Even if you spent 60 thousand, so what?"
I looked at her, the woman I'd taken care of for three years.
When her blood pressure shot up, it was me knocking on the neighbor's door in the middle of the night.
I kept track of every single thing she couldn't eat in my phone.
Every week, I'd be hunched over, hanging up her clean sheets one by one.
And she had the nerve to say, "Even if you spent 60 thousand, so what?"
My stomach twisted.
I picked up my phone, closed the PDF, opened my contacts, and dialed a number. "Caspian, it's Catherine. I need a divorce lawyer."
Chiara's expression shifted. "What do you mean?"
"Mrs. Sloane, I agree to the divorce," I said. "But not on his terms."
I paused. "I'll sign, but not this one."
It was the twenty-first day of the lockdown.
Damien updated his social media. It was the first time he'd posted in two weeks. It was a grid of nine photos.
The first was a shot of Olianken's harbor bridge at dusk, the light soft and golden.
The second showed a table set with a spread of home-style dishes, beautifully arranged.
Photos three to five were street scenes, a café, and a supermarket.
The sixth was a hand holding a wine glass.
On the wrist was Damien's Longines watch. I recognized the scratch on the band.
The seventh photo showed another hand reaching over to clink glasses. It was delicate with no ring on the ring finger. The nails were painted a dusty rose.
I remembered Linnea used to love that shade back in college.
The caption was simple: [Daily Life.]
Comments rolled in below.
[Damien's enjoying himself down in the Southern Hemisphere.]
[That food looks incredible.]
[Take care of yourself out there.]
No one mentioned Linnea. But everyone knew it.
I took a screenshot of the post.
My phone buzzed again.
Chiara had forwarded a message.
It was from Damien, posted in the family group chat. [Everything's good here, so don't worry. I'll come see you all once the lockdown's lifted.]
Chiara followed up with a voice message. "It's not easy for Damien to be out there on his own. You guys should reach out to him more."
On his own? It was funny.
I put my phone down and slipped on my coat.
It was my third day reporting in at the institute.
Victor had set me up with an office right next to the data group.
The neighborhood had given me a travel permit, but I still had to get through four checkpoints every time I went to and from the institute.
I left home at seven every morning and didn't get back until around nine at night.
Chiara complained that I wasn't home to cook, but the community was handing out supply packs, so she wasn't going hungry.
What really bothered her was that no one was taking care of her anymore.
"Why are you, a housewife, suddenly going to work? What would Damien say if he knew?" she said.
"I'm not a housewife. I'm an epidemiologist with a PhD," I replied.
Chiara paused, as if it was the first time she'd heard that word. Maybe it was the first time she actually listened.
That night, Damien tried to video call me. I didn't pick up.
He called again. Still, I didn't answer.
When the phone rang for the third time, Chiara darted over, snatched it from me, and answered it herself. "Damien, Catherine here won't even answer your calls."
On the screen, Damien was sitting on a cream-colored sofa, a huge wall of floor-to-ceiling windows behind him.
Outside, I could see a stretch of lawn and a fence.
This definitely wasn't a hotel. It was a single-family home.
"Catherine," Damien leaned in closer to the camera, "did you read the agreement?"
"Yeah, I read it," I replied.
"Did you sign it?" he asked.
"No," I said.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because it's not fair," I replied.
He frowned. "How is it not fair? I'm giving you the house."
"A house saddled with over 300 thousand in loans, and a bank account you've drained. Damien, you call that fair?" I said.
A shadow flashed on the right side of the screen. It was Linnea with short hair, wearing a black T-shirt. She was out of frame, but very close.
Chiara didn't catch it.
Damien's gaze shifted to the right for a moment, then quickly returned.
"We'll talk it over again." Then he hung up.
Every time he said that, he really meant I would give in sooner or later. But this time, things were different.
My lawyer, Caspian Grey, had already pulled up the transfer records for that commercial property.
The sale price was 320 thousand dollars, nearly half the market value. It was obviously sold way below market price.
But the real shocker was what Caspian dug up while going through the paperwork.
Damien had taken out a second mortgage on the apartment, using my name for everything.
The sum was 200 thousand. The funds were released three months ago. The signature was my name, but that wasn't my signature.
I was left-handed, so my handwriting tends to slant left.
The signature on the mortgage documents was neat and upright, obviously done with the right hand.
Caspian said that's forging a signature to scam a loan. That was a criminal offense.
I locked a copy of that document away in my desk drawer. The stack in my evidence folder just kept piling up.
I wasn't in a rush. I had to wait for Damien to expose himself completely before I struck.