Chapter 1Wife Against The Other Woman

For the past year, living a thousand miles away from my husband, I spent every waking moment counting down the seconds until our reunion.

That was until I ran into one of his colleagues at the upscale mall downtown. Her bright, enthusiastic smile felt like a shard of ice driven straight into my chest.

"You are so lucky! I can’t believe the baby is already a month old. She’s an absolute doll!" She pressed a thick, cream-colored card with gold-foiled edges into my hand. Her voice was thick with envy.

I forced my hands to stay steady as I took the invitation. My eyes blurred as they swept over the elegant script. Under Father, it read: David Lawrence. Under Mother, the name Jessica sat there, cold and unfamiliar, mocking me.

I memorized the address of the hotel, my face a mask of practiced composure. "I wouldn't miss it for the world," I said, my smile feeling like it was stitched onto my face.

On the day of the celebration, I stood at the entrance of the crowded ballroom. I watched a beautiful woman, glowing in silk, cradling an infant while she charmed the guests.

"You must be one of David’s colleagues," she said, stepping toward me with a graceful, practiced warmth. "Please, come in. He’s always saying how incredible the women on his team are." She held that baby with the ease of someone who belonged there, while I stood there feeling like a ghost haunting someone else’s happy ending.

...

* * *

A storm was raging inside me, but my face remained a blank slate. I looked down at the infant in her arms. The baby was fair, delicate, with the unmistakable curve of David’s brow.

"Where is David?" I asked. My voice was hollow, stripped of all inflection.

I scanned the room. He was nowhere to be seen, but I spotted several familiar faces—his aunts, a few cousins. People I hadn't seen since our own wedding seven years ago.

I have a photographic memory for faces. I remembered the way his Uncle Joe laughed, the specific way his mother’s sisters whispered. My heart hammered against my ribs. David hadn't just cheated; he was bold enough to parade his secret life in front of his entire extended family.

"He went to pick up my in-laws," Jessica said, her voice tinkling like wind chimes. "They should be here any minute."

The air left my lungs. It felt like a physical blow to the solar plexus, a sharp, suffocating pain. Two days ago, David’s parents told me they had booked a senior citizens' bus tour—a two-week trip through the Pacific Northwest.

I’d been so worried about their fixed income that I’d tucked two thousand dollars into a card for his mother, calling it their "adventure fund." They’d spent years complaining about their health and their mounting pharmacy bills; I’d been the one encouraging them to finally see the world.

For seven years, I’d treated them like my own flesh and blood. I was the "perfect daughter-in-law," the one they praised to anyone who would listen.

I realized now that they hadn't just been lying to me. They’d been laughing at me.

Jessica didn't notice the fire in my eyes. She led me over to a cluster of David’s work friends. As we approached, a middle-aged man grinned at her.

"I tell David all the time, he’s the luckiest man alive. A gorgeous wife and an even more gorgeous daughter."

The group chimed in, a chorus of adulation.

"Jessica, you really made the right call. I was worried when you left the firm to be a stay-at-the-home mom, but look at you."

"Six years later, and you and David are still the gold standard. And now, finally, the new addition. I’m so happy for you guys."

My hands curled into fists, my nails biting into the soft skin of my palms.

My marriage to David had lasted seven years.

He had been with Jessica for six.

The sheer scale of the deception was dizzying. Even this morning, he’d sent me a text: Good morning, beautiful. Counting down the days until I’m home. I miss you so much it hurts.

For seven years, I thought we were the "it" couple. He never raised his voice. He made a six-figure salary and "budgeted" himself to a pittance of pocket money, giving the rest to me for our "future."

Every anniversary, he bought me a gold bracelet. I had a jewelry box full of them, a shimmering timeline of our love.

A year ago, he’d sat me down with a serious face. "The regional office wants to relocate me," he’d said. "It’s an extra fifty thousand a year, plus bonuses. Think of what that means for our son. College, a wedding, his first house. I can do the long distance if you can. For him."

I’d cried, but I’d agreed. I wanted that future for our son, Max.

Now I realized the "long distance" was just the final piece of a masterpiece of lies.