Chapter 4 No.4

"And besides," Craig said, his voice dropping into a confidential, manipulative tone, "there was... an accident. A mistake. Chanel is pregnant. We have to get married, to give the child my name so she isn't shamed."

He looked at Dessie, his eyes pleading. He was attempting to appeal to her sense of compassion, the same compassion he had exploited for years.

"You are a kind person, Dessie. I know you understand. This is the only honorable thing to do. It is a temporary sacrifice for a lifetime together. For us."

The urge to send her plate spinning across the table toward his smug, handsome face was an almost overwhelming physical force. She gripped her fork until her knuckles showed white beneath the skin.

She remembered him sacrificing a weekend to help her study for a certification exam. She remembered him bringing her soup when she was sick. Were those all calculated moves in a long deception? Had any of it been real?

Looking at him now, she knew it did not matter. The man who did those things was gone, if he had ever existed at all.

"A year or two?" she asked, her voice flat. "And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Hide in the shadows while you play house with her?"

She saw a flicker of annoyance in his eyes before he masked it with a patient smile. "I know it is a lot to ask. But it is for our future."

"I am leaving," she said, standing up.

His smile vanished. He shot up from his chair, and his fingers closed around her arm. He applied no great force, yet the pressure was precise, his knuckles pressing into the soft flesh just above her elbow with an unmistakable message of ownership. She could feel the distinct shape of each bone through her sleeve. "Where are you going?"

"Away from you."

"Do not be ridiculous," he snapped, his voice turning hard. "You are not going anywhere. I am telling you, this is temporary."

His grip tightened, his fingers digging into her skin. "Even if we are divorced on paper, you are still mine, Dessie. You will always be mine."

She stared at him, seeing the raw, possessive obsession in his eyes for the first time. It was not about love. It was about ownership.

She stopped struggling, her face a mask of cold indifference. She had a plan. She just needed to survive one more night.

The next evening, she came home from work to find the front door ajar. She heard voices inside. Craig's, and Chanel's.

She walked in to find Chanel directing two men who were moving her boxes into the guest room.

Craig saw Dessie and immediately came over, a placating look on his face. "Dessie, listen. Chanel was evicted from her apartment. She had nowhere to go. I could not just leave her on the street, especially in her condition."

Dessie stared at him, speechless at his audacity. He was moving his new wife into their home. Her home.

"It is just for a little while," he said quickly. "Until she can find a new place."

Chanel walked over, a timid expression on her face. "I am so sorry for the intrusion, Dessie. I hope I am not too much of a bother."

Dessie did not answer. She walked past them and into the living room. She stopped dead.

Her wedding photo, the small one she kept on the mantle, was gone. In its place was a large, framed picture of Craig and Chanel, smiling together.

Her wall of professional awards and certificates, the testament to her hard work, was also gone. Hanging in its place was a tacky, oversized painting of flowers.

She turned around slowly. Craig and Chanel were standing in the doorway. Craig had the grace to look guilty. Chanel was beaming.

She followed Dessie's gaze to the wall. "Oh, I hope you do not mind," Chanel said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "The place just felt a little... cluttered. And Craig looks so handsome in that photo, do you not think?"

Dessie looked from the empty wall to Craig's face. He had not only let her do it, he had helped her erase Dessie from her own home.

"And I am pregnant, you know," Chanel added, placing a hand on her flat stomach. "With Craig's baby. We need to make this place feel like a real family home."

The lie was so blatant, so designed to inflict maximum pain, that Dessie could only stare in numb horror.

Craig rushed to Chanel's side, putting a protective arm around her. "Chanel, perhaps you should go rest. Dessie, can you please not make a scene? Chanel is very delicate right now."

He was defending her. He was protecting the other woman from his wife, in their own home. It was the final, unforgivable violation.