Chapter 4
The next morning, I went to Olivia's law firm.
Olivia reviewed the transaction records, screenshots, and hospital documents.
She was silent for a long time.
"How many properties does your husband own?" she finally asked.
"Just one, as far as I know—the one we live in," I replied.
"What about the one at Greenfield Residences?" she asked.
"I called the property management last night. Building 7, Room 1802—the owner is James Carter. I said I was calling about a water leak, and they looked it up in their system and told me," I said.
Olivia flipped through the documents.
"So that's two properties. You put down 450,000 dollars for your place. Do you have any idea how much the down payment was for that Greenfield Residences apartment?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said.
"I'll look into it," Olivia said.
Olivia made a few calls.
About thirty minutes later, she got the answer.
Greenfield Residences, Room 1802.
The contract was finalized online last June. Total price: 0.4 million dollars. Down payment: 120,000 dollars. Monthly mortgage payment: 1,400 dollars.
"120,000 dollars down payment," Olivia said, fixing her gaze on me. "His salary is 4,000 dollars a month, and he sends out 2,000 every month. So where did he get 120,000 dollars?"
I just kept quiet.
"How much of your 150,000 dollars down payment ended up in that apartment?" she pressed.
I kept quiet again.
Because honestly, I had no way of knowing.
But there was one thing I could count for sure.
He sent 90,000 dollars to Sophia.
Of the 150,000 dollars for the down payment, he only paid 80,000.
I fronted 120,000 dollars for the renovations—he never bothered to pay me back.
I paid more than 1,000 dollars every month for his part of the mortgage.
All that money—
He used it all to buy Sophia her own place.
Olivia looked at me.
"So, what do you want to do?" she asked.
"Divorce. Get my 90,000 dollars back—including my down payment. And split the property at Greenfield Residences."
"Anything else?"
"Let him get to the airport and realize there's no seat for him."
Olivia smiled.
"When are you canceling the ticket?"
"Tonight. The flight is at 10 a.m. tomorrow."
"And after you cancel it?"
"I'm not telling him."
Olivia nodded.
"I'll handle the paperwork to freeze the assets today."
She glanced at the screenshot.
"Your mother-in-law calling you 'just a placeholder' in the group chat—that's useful. And him telling Sophia you're basically his 'ATM'—"
"Can we actually use that?"
"When the court decides how to split the assets and whether you get compensation, these chat logs can show he meant harm. If the judge sees the word 'ATM,' it could really sway their decision."
I nodded.
"One more thing," Olivia said. "About that risk of forgery you mentioned—"
"Forgery? What are you talking about?" I asked.
"If your husband gets wind of the divorce, he might try to forge some paperwork. Stuff like a fake prenup, or made-up loan notes and debts."
"Would he really go that far?" I said.
"Just to be safe, I'll build a timeline using your marriage registration info. If he tries to show up with any suspicious documents, I'll be able to check if they're legit right away."
Olivia always handled things with careful precision.
This was her eighth year as a lawyer.
"Go home now. Just act normal," she said.
Just act normal.
I went home.
James had already packed his suitcase.
A big suitcase was set by the door.
The two toiletry bags were still inside.
One blue, one pink.
The pink sticky note had already been torn off.
He knew he had to cover his tracks.
But he didn't know I'd already snapped a picture.
"Aren't you going to pack your suitcase?" he asked.
"I'll pack in the morning," I replied.
"Alright, just don't forget—" he started.
"The passport," I finished for him. "I know."
He smiled.
He walked over and pulled me into his arms.
"Just the two of us. First class. Paris," he said.
I leaned against his shoulder.
I caught the scent of his laundry detergent.
It was the same scent as always.
That same scent lingered when he came back from the third floor after listening to the baby's heartbeat.
And when he brought me porridge, smiling and telling me to eat more, it was the same scent.
His kindness and his cruelty both carried the same scent of laundry detergent.
"Mm-hmm," I murmured. "Just us."
At 11 p.m., James was asleep.
He was asleep.
I picked up my phone.
Opened the airline app.
Two first-class seats. From Beijing to Paris.
Passengers: James and Sophia .
I tapped "Request Refund."
A confirmation box popped up.
"Refund fee is 5% of the ticket price."
The total for both tickets was 26,000 dollars, so the fee came out to 1,200 dollars.
That meant I'd get 23,000 dollars back.
I tapped "Confirm."
The page refreshed.
The refund request was submitted.
His phone buzzed with a text from the airline.
He rolled over.
He didn't wake up.
I reached out.
I quietly flipped his phone face down.
Screen side down.
He was sound asleep.
Tomorrow, he'd grab his suitcase and head out.
He'd go to the airport.
He'd wait for Sophia in the terminal.
Then the two of them would walk up to the check-in counter together.
The staff would pull up their booking.
Then they'd say—
"Sir, your ticket has been canceled."