Chapter 3My Sister In Law Is His Ex

When I got home, the house smelled like a five-star bistro.

Simon was in the kitchen, wearing the "World’s Best Husband" apron I’d bought him as a joke. The table was covered in my favorite dishes—pan-seared scallops, truffle risotto, a bottle of the expensive sparkling cider I liked.

It was his classic move. Every time he let Lydia ruin something, he’d create a beautiful illusion of a happy home. He’d wait for me to soften, for the anger to fade into the background of his "kindness."

But the illusion was dead.

I sat down at the table. I didn't touch the food. I just slid the signed divorce papers across the placemat.

He froze, his smile faltering. "Chloe, come on. I told you, I’m not signing those. I’m sorry about the other day. Lydia is my responsibility, but you’re my life. Why can't you just accept her?"

I looked at him, seeing the stranger behind the mask. "Your responsibility? Or your ex-wife?"

The color drained from his face. "You... you know?"

He let out a long, shaky breath, and strangely, he seemed relieved. "Okay. Fine. So you know. I can explain that, Chloe."

He started talking, his voice gaining momentum as he convinced himself he was the hero of the story. "Lydia and I... we just didn't work out. We divorced before I ever met you. But after the split, she found out she was pregnant. She was so distraught she had a miscarriage. She can never have children now."

I watched him, my expression a mask of cold stone.

"I owe her," Simon said, his voice thick with self-inflicted martyrdom. "I destroyed her future. I have to take care of her for the rest of her life. It’s my burden."

Memories flooded back. The early days of our relationship. How he’d nursed me through the flu. How he’d hold the umbrella over me in the rain, letting his own shoulder get soaked. He’d told me that since I was alone in the world, he would be my family. He promised I’d never be second best.

Every word had been a lie. He didn't want to be my family; he wanted me to be a cog in his.

"That’s your choice, Simon," I said. "But I’m not a part of it. I’m not your debt-payment. Sign the papers. We’ll split the house and the savings, and you can spend the rest of your life making it up to her. I don't care anymore."

When I mentioned the house, Simon’s eyes shifted. He wouldn't look at me.

"About the house, Chloe..." he whispered. "Lydia was so insecure. She felt like she had nothing after the divorce. So... I put the deed in her name. A few months ago."

The room went cold. My hand jerked, knocking a glass of water off the table. It shattered against the floor, but I didn't move.

When we got married, Simon had played the penniless romantic. He told me he’d lost everything in his first divorce and couldn't afford a down payment. I’d felt so much for him. I told him it didn't matter. I’d spent a decade saving every penny from my corporate jobs. I paid the down payment. I paid the lion's share of the mortgage every month while he "invested" his salary.

I thought I was building a sanctuary for us.

Instead, I had been paying for Lydia’s retirement. They hadn't just stolen my time and my fertility; they had systematically bled me dry.