Chapter 2 - THE MORNING I DIDN'T GO HOME
At 6:14 the next morning, Adrien sent me a text.
How's your mom? Sorry I fell asleep early. Love you.
I stared at those words while the sun rose over the hospital parking garage.
He had slept early.
Apparently, between moving another woman's possessions into our bedroom and removing me from our security system.
I typed three different responses.
I saw everything.
How long has this been happening?
Get out of my house.
Then I deleted them all.
Instead, I wrote:
Mom's stable. I'll be at the hospital most of today.
His response arrived immediately.
Good. Take whatever time you need. Don't worry about the house.
I read that last sentence twice.
Don't worry about the house.
He wasn't reassuring me.
He was giving himself time.
My mother stirred in the bed.
“Clare?”
I put my phone away.
“I'm here.”
She looked at me through tired eyes.
“You look terrible.”
“Good morning to you too.”
“Did you sleep?”
“A little.”
She studied my face.
My mother had spent thirty-eight years as an elementary school principal. She could identify a lie before the person telling it had decided on the details.
“What's happened?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
Her expression sharpened.
“That's not what I asked.”
I looked toward the window.
Then I told her.
Not everything.
Just enough.
Adrien.
Vanessa.
The video.
The camera access.
My mother listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she closed her eyes.
For a moment, I thought the news had exhausted her.
Then she said:
“Call Rebecca.”
I frowned.
“Rebecca?”
“Your cousin. The attorney.”
“Mom, you just had surgery.”
“And apparently your husband has just made a very expensive mistake.”
I stared.
She opened her eyes.
“Clare, sweetheart, I am sick. I'm not stupid.”
***
Rebecca Sloan answered on the second ring.
She practiced family law in Fairfax County and had once represented a woman whose husband tried to hide an entire rental property during divorce proceedings.
When I explained what had happened, she didn't gasp.
She didn't offer dramatic sympathy.
She asked questions.
“Whose names are on the deed?”
“Both.”
“Mortgage?”
“Both.”
“Where did the down payment come from?”
“Mostly money Mom gave me from Dad's cabin sale.”
“Do you have records?”
“Yes.”
“Bank statements?”
“Yes.”
“Closing documents?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I swallowed.
“Can he just move someone into our house?”
Rebecca paused.
“He's a co-owner, Clare. That complicates things. But his conduct may matter in the broader dispute, and you have rights too.”
I looked down.
“What should I do?”
“Don't destroy anything. Don't change locks without legal advice. Preserve the video. Keep communications in writing. And don't sign anything he puts in front of you.”
I nodded.
“Okay.”
“Also, Clare?”
“Yes?”
“Don't warn him before we understand the financial picture.”
I looked at my phone.
Adrien had sent another message.
Miss you.
I felt something inside me turn cold.
“Too late for him,” I whispered.
Rebecca heard.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I looked toward my mother's hospital bed.
“I'm ready.”
***
At noon, I called my supervisor and requested emergency leave.
Then I drove to the bank.
I printed records for every account connected to the house purchase.
The down payment.
The closing costs.
The renovation purchases.
The mortgage payments.
I had paid for more than I remembered.
The kitchen appliances.
The new water heater.
The hardwood refinishing.
Even the brass porch light beneath which Adrien had kissed Vanessa.
Then I noticed something.
Three transfers from our joint checking account.
Each for $4,800.
All sent to an account labeled A. Monroe Consulting.
Adrien had never mentioned a consulting business.
I checked the dates.
The first transfer happened two weeks before closing.
The second happened the day we received the keys.
The third happened yesterday.
While my mother was in surgery.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
The affair was bad enough.
But suddenly, I understood that another woman's suitcase might be the smallest part of what my husband had brought into our home.
