Chapter 3A Dead Womans Final Signature

I first discovered my father’s affair at my college acceptance party.

It should have been the happiest day of my mother’s life.

My father’s company was listed on the stock exchange; I was off to my dream school.

The smile never left her face for the entire night.

Until I used the excuse of needing fresh air to slip onto the balcony to text a friend.

Just a few feet away, my father was locked in a tight embrace with a woman.

I knew that woman. She was my mother’s best friend, her confidante for eighteen years.

The first fancy party dress I ever owned was a gift from her.

I froze on the spot, my mind a blank slate.

The next thing I knew, a piercing scream, raw and bloody, tore out of me.

My mother rushed over, worried. When she saw the scene, her soul shattered.

I heard her ask my father:

“Why?”

“Why her?”

The woman she had treated like a sister for nearly two decades.

“And why today?”

On our daughter’s big day.

I don’t remember much after that.

I only remember the lights in our house stayed on all night.

My father smoked, lighting one cigarette after another.

My mother sat lifelessly on the sofa, her makeup smeared and streaked.

They made a pact: my father would cut ties with the other woman, and my mother would pretend nothing happened for my sake, so my education wouldn’t be affected.

My mother, naïve as she was, still believed they could start over.

Until the second time. My mother came home from grocery shopping.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and the two of them were tangled up, half-dressed.

On the nightstand right next to the bed sat our family photo—the three of us, smiling.

That was the moment she completely lost it.

She flung the groceries at them, smashing every single photo frame in the house.

My father just stood there, watching her, shielding the other woman with his body.

“Caroline, stop this ridiculous scene and close the door.”

“Ellie will be home soon. It wouldn’t look good.”

He remembered I was coming home, yet when he was with that woman, he didn’t even bother to close the door.

I wasn’t told what happened next.

I only knew my mother wanted a divorce and asked if I would go with her.

Of course, I said yes.

I had seen the evidence of his betrayal with my own eyes. I couldn’t bear to live under the same roof as him.

To stick up for my mom, I even dragged a couple of friends to the mistress’s house.

I called her a homewrecker, trashed her living room, and warned her never to show her face to my mom again.

But my father struck back, and quickly.

He didn’t hurt me. He just called the police for her and hired the best lawyer in town.

“Even though you’re my daughter, the mother is to blame for the child’s mistakes. You dared to bully Aunt Vanessa, so your mother will have to apologize for you.”

“This is a small warning. If it happens again, I won’t spare you, even if you are my child.”

I will never forget that day I was left alone at the precinct.

My mother rushed over, hysterical, and—in front of the police officers—she knelt before that woman.

She bent low, her palms raw from digging her nails into them, kneeling before my father and Vanessa Pierce.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t raise my daughter properly.”

“She’s still young. She needs to go to college. She can’t have a record. Please, let her go.”

“I promise… I will teach her better. She won’t cause trouble again.”

“Please.”

That was the first time—the absolute first time—I wished my father dead.

But my wish didn’t come true.

He went on living perfectly fine. Even worse, after that incident, he stopped trying to hide his affair.

He started bringing that woman home frequently, asking me to call her "Stepmom" right in front of my mother.

He didn’t care that my mother cried all night, every night. He didn’t care that the hatred in my eyes grew daily.

He was entirely consumed by his extramarital life.

Then, a month later, my mother, distracted and distraught, was in a car accident.

That was the first time I saw my father cry.