Chapter 4The Other Mommy In Her Essay

For the next two weeks, I became a ghost in my own life.

I worked. I cooked. I spoke to him.

But behind the scenes, I moved every cent of my personal savings into my mother’s account.

I applied for a six-month editorial assignment out of state, and my boss approved it immediately.

I worked with Rachel to map out every asset Thomas had.

He didn't suspect a thing. He thought I’d swallowed his lies.

On our seventh anniversary, he booked a table at the most expensive French restaurant in the city.

The room was filled with roses and candlelight. He slid a velvet box across the table.

A diamond necklace. It must have cost a fortune.

He looked at me with an intensity that would have moved me to tears if I didn't know the truth.

"Callie, once things settle down at work, I want to take you and Sophie to Iceland. Let’s see the Northern Lights. Let’s start over. Okay?"

His voice was hoarse. His fingers were trembling.

I looked at him and felt a wave of pure, unadulterated absurdity.

How could a man be so profoundly treacherous and yet look so devastatingly sincere?

I nodded. "Okay. I’ll wait for you."

The moment the words left my lips, his phone buzzed.

He looked at the screen, and the color drained from his face.

His breathing hitched.

I went back to cutting my steak, my eyes focused on the plate.

"If it’s an emergency, you should go."

He didn't move.

I set my knife down and looked him in the eye.

"But if you walk out that door tonight, Thomas, we are done. Permanently."

His body went rigid. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

Then he closed his eyes, his voice a ragged whisper.

"Lydia slit her wrists. I owe her her life, Callie. I am so sorry. I promise—this is the last time."

He stood up, the chair screeching against the floor.

He turned and ran.

The door swung shut behind him. The candle flame flickered and died.

I sat alone at the long, empty table.

I picked up a piece of rare steak and chewed it slowly. It tasted like iron.

After paying the bill, I took a taxi to the apartment complex.

11:00 PM. The autumn air felt like a knife against my skin.

I stood under the first-floor window, peering through a gap in the curtains.

There was no blood.

No slit wrists.

Thomas was sitting on the sofa. Lydia was curled into his side, her head on his shoulder.

Martha came out of the kitchen with a plate of sliced fruit, smiling as she set it on the coffee table.

And my daughter, Sophie, was leaning against Lydia’s knees.

She looked up and chirped, "Mommy, don't be mad at Daddy anymore. We’re all going to be together forever."

Thomas looked down at them with a smile of weary, indulgent adoration.

It was a perfect family portrait.

A family of four.

My stomach cramped so violently I thought I would be sick.

I leaned over, hands on my knees, dry-heaving into the darkness.

I looked down at the wedding ring on my left hand. I’d worn it for seven years. It had left a permanent indentation on my skin.

I slid it off. I looked at it for two seconds.

Then I dropped it into the storm drain at my feet.

It hit the metal grate with a tiny, pathetic clink.

You owe her your life, Thomas? Fine. Pay it with your own life.

I’m done settling your debts.