Chapter 3My Husband Chose My Murderer

They brought Macy home.

Renting her a separate apartment wasn't enough anymore; now, they were moving her into my sanctuary.

Macy caught my cold gaze and huddled closer to Robert, her shoulders trembling with practiced fear.

Mitch immediately raised his voice. “Don’t worry, Macy. Dad and I are here. No one’s kicking you out!”

Robert frowned at me, his voice heavy with "academic" authority. “Macy is traumatized, Hannah. As an educator yourself, you should have the grace to show some compassion to a student.”

Compassion? Or a clear path to your bed?

I looked at Mitch and kept the thought to myself.

“She’s twenty-two,” I said calmly. “She’s months away from graduation. I’m stopping my financial sponsorship. Today.”

Over the years, between tuition, tutors, and the designer "gifts" she’d lifted from my closet, I’d spent well over three hundred thousand dollars on her. I wasn't going to throw another cent into a black hole.

Macy’s head snapped up. Her eyes went wide with genuine panic. Tears began to flow—a well-practiced reflex.

“Professor Matt… Hannah… am I such a burden? Maybe I should just leave. I’ll go live on the street, it’s fine.”

She made a move toward the door. Robert grabbed her arm, spinning on me with a snarl.

“Hannah, what is wrong with you? We aren't hurting for money! She’s sick, and you’re being a monster!”

Mitch lunged at me, his small fists thumping against my thighs. “Mean woman! Bad woman! Get out! This isn't your house!”

I stood there, numb, watching the son I nearly died to bring into this world treat me like an intruder. My heart didn't break; it turned to ash.

“Mitch, stop it. That’s your mother!” Robert pulled the boy back, but his eyes stayed on me, devoid of warmth. “If you can’t handle this, maybe you should go stay somewhere else for a few days. Until you’ve regained your senses.”

The silence that followed was chilling.

We had built this life together. Back when Robert’s stipend was barely enough for groceries, I was the one working double shifts at the learning center. I took the difficult classes no other teacher wanted just to afford the down payment on this house.

Back then, Robert used to worry about me. He’d turn off my alarms and beg me to sleep. “Hannah, a house isn't worth your health,” he’d say.

Now, he was kicking me out of the home I’d paid for to make room for his mistress-in-waiting.

It was perfect.

Macy stood behind them, her arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips. Her eyes said everything: Husband? Son? They’re mine now. You’re nothing.

I didn't argue. I didn't tell her that this house was bought in my name before the marriage. I didn't tell her that when the divorce finalized, they would be the ones on the street.

I needed to leave so the security cameras could record exactly what happened when I wasn't there.

“Hannah,” Robert called out as I reached for my keys. “Your mother’s care… I’m still paying for the private facility and the advanced equipment. If you want her to stay comfortable, you’ll start acting like a wife again.”

I froze. I turned slowly to look at him. My mother had late-stage ALS. She was on a ventilator. Robert’s brother sat on the board of the best private hospital in the state.

He was using my dying mother as a hostage.

I walked back across the room and slapped him so hard my palm went numb.

Macy shrieked and tried to lung at me, but Robert, surprisingly, held her back. He just stared at me, his jaw tight.

I walked out the door.

For the next week, I stayed at the hospital with my mother. I watched the footage from my home security app. Macy had fully moved in. She was cooking in my kitchen, wearing my robes. She even slipped into the master bedroom late at night.

I watched Mitch eat greasy takeout—the kind of food his sensitive stomach couldn't handle, the kind I’d spent years carefully avoiding. He looked at the camera and shouted, “Macy, I wish you were my real mom!”

I didn't call. I didn't text.

Two weeks later, Robert messaged me: “You can come home now. This is getting ridiculous.”

I ignored it.

The next day: “I sent Macy back to the dorms. Come back. The house is a mess and Mitch needs you.”

I still didn't reply.