Chapter 2He Lost Everything For A Child That Was Not His

The Venmo history was far more detailed than the bank account. I saw the rest of the picture.

In addition to the monthly $4,000 wire transfer:

November 15th: Tiffany & Co. bracelet, $1,200.

November 20th: The Gilded Spoon Bistro, Couple’s Tasting Menu, $180.

November 22nd: The Fairmont Hotel, one night stay, $450.

October 10th: Prestige Motors, Down payment on a vehicle, $15,000.

I clicked on the $15,000 payment detail.

It was the down payment for a BMW 330i—a sleek, nearly new model. The total cost was $45,000, with a loan for the remaining $30,000.

Owner of the car: Savannah T.

I sat there, perfectly still. My body felt heavy, hollowed out.

Leo ran out of his room, his hair mussed.

“Mom, I’m hungry.”

I pulled him onto my lap, hugging him tight.

“What do you want?”

“Can we get a pizza?”

“Absolutely.”

I opened the delivery app and ordered a basic medium pepperoni pizza. $28.

Then I looked at Patrick’s Venmo history again.

November 25th: High-end Steakhouse, Surf-and-Turf Dinner for Two, $350.

That very day, I had cooked Leo a cheap box of mac and cheese.

It was the end of the month, my paycheck hadn’t cleared, and I only had fifty dollars left in my checking account.

I called Patrick.

It rang for a long time before he answered. “What do you want?”

“Leo’s tutoring fee is due next week. Seven hundred dollars.”

“I’m broke.”

“What about your paycheck?”

“Spent it.”

“On what?”

He paused for a few seconds.

“My money is mine to spend however I choose, Eliza. You don’t get to audit me.”

“You still have to cover the kid's expenses, Pat.”

“Didn’t I give you a deposit for living expenses?”

“You give me two thousand a month! What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Figure it out yourself.” He hung up.

I stared at the phone, a strange, hysterical urge to laugh welling up. I wanted to laugh until I wept.

Seven years of marriage.

Year one: I was pregnant, violently ill. He said he was too busy with work to care for me.

Year two: C-section delivery. He stayed at the hospital for two hours, said there was an emergency meeting, and left.

Year three: I quit my job to stay home with the baby. He said since I wasn’t working, I was responsible for everything at home.

Year four: I wanted to go back to work. He said Leo was too little to be left with strangers.

Year five: I found a part-time job, making $3,000 a month. He said it was pitifully small, I should just stay home.

Year six: I insisted on working, pushing my salary up to $4,500. He said I still made less than him, so he was the one supporting the family.

Year seven: He wanted a divorce.

He had been cheating.

And he offered $500 for his son.

I sent him a text: I'd like to meet Savannah. Can we arrange that?

He replied instantly: What are you trying to pull, Eliza?

Nothing. Just want to talk. A conversation.

Don’t you dare cause trouble.

I won't.

He texted me an address. The Riverwalk Residences, Tower 3, Unit 1502.

I looked up the complex. Upscale condos. Average price per square foot was astronomical. A hundred-square-meter unit would cost over half a million dollars.

Three years ago, Patrick had said we should buy a house. I offered the $20,000 my parents had gifted me for a down payment.

He said the money wasn’t enough; we had to wait.

We never bought a house.

Now I knew why.

The money wasn't the problem. The buyer was the problem.

And this was just the beginning.