Chapter 4

Michael started to say something, "Sarah, wait..." but the words died in his throat.

He didn't know what to say, what to offer. He couldn't bring himself to apologize, not really.

A vague sense of unease settled over him as he watched her walk out the door.

He frowned, irritated by the feeling, unable to pinpoint its source.

He just wanted things to be easy, like they used to be.

The next few days passed in a strained silence.

Sarah didn't call. Michael didn't call.

The house felt strangely empty, too quiet.

Ethan started to feel her absence.

His homework wasn't checked, his favorite snacks weren't in the pantry, his soccer uniform wasn't clean.

The meticulously organized household Sarah ran was slowly unraveling.

He tried calling Jessica. "Mommy Jess, can you come over? I'm hungry."

Jessica cooed over the phone. "Oh, sweetie, I'd love to, but I'm so busy today. Ask your daddy to order pizza! And tell him I said hi!"

Empty promises. Flattery. No real care.

Ethan, frustrated, finally confronted Michael.

"Where's Mom? When is she coming back?"

His lower lip trembled. He missed the way Sarah used to hum when she cooked, the way she always knew where his lost toys were.

Michael snapped, his own frustration boiling over. "I don't know, Ethan! She's just being difficult."

"Good!" Ethan retorted, his face hardening, parroting words he'd heard Michael use. "I don't want her back anyway. She's boring and mean. Jessica is way better. She said Mom doesn't know how to take care of us properly."

Michael's anger flared, but this time, it was mixed with a dawning horror.

Those were his words, his casual dismissals, now twisted and ugly in his son's mouth.

He had done this. He had poisoned his own son against his mother.

A cold knot of regret began to form in his stomach.

Meanwhile, Jessica, sensing an opportunity, sent Sarah a message.

A photo of Michael at a bar, surrounded by laughing women, a drink in his hand.

The location was tagged.

"He's really letting loose without you, Sarah. Looks like he needs someone to take care of him. You should come get your man."

The implication was clear: Michael was in trouble, or about to be.

Sarah glanced at the message and deleted it.

She wasn't falling for Jessica's games anymore.

Jessica, annoyed by the lack of response, sent another, more aggressive message.

"Ethan is asking for you. He's not eating. Michael is a mess. If you care about your family at all, you'll come to this address. Now."

Despite herself, a flicker of concern for Ethan made Sarah hesitate.

She knew Jessica was manipulating her, but the thought of Ethan suffering...

Reluctantly, she got in her car and drove to the address, a trendy downtown club Michael frequented.

The bouncer recognized her, a relic from Michael's "previous life," and waved her in.

The air was thick with smoke, expensive perfume, and the cloying scent of desperation.

She saw Michael at a VIP table, a bottle of champagne in front of him, a woman draped over his arm, laughing too loudly at something he said.

She heard snippets of conversation.

"Sarah? Oh, she's probably sulking at home." Michael's voice, casual, dismissive.

"Good riddance," one of the women slurred. "You need someone fun, Michael."

Someone at the table, a younger man Michael was trying to impress, asked, "What about your wife, Mr. Davis? Won't she be upset?"

Michael laughed, a cold, empty sound. "If she doesn't like it, she knows where the door is. I'm not going to coax her."

He took a long swig of champagne.

"Yeah," another man chimed in, leering. "She's just a lapdog. She'll come crawling back. They always do when the money's good."

His eyes roamed over where Sarah would have been sitting, a crude assessment in his gaze.

A naive young woman at the edge of the group, clearly uncomfortable, piped up, "But what if she... what if she really leaves?"

An awkward silence fell for a beat.

Michael' s voice, when he finally spoke, was like ice.

"If she doesn't come back? Then she can roll. Plenty more where she came from."

His contempt was a physical blow.

The men around him guffawed.

One of them, emboldened, said, "Yeah, but was she good in bed, Mike? She looked a bit uptight."

Vulgar laughter followed.

A wave of nausea, mixed with the familiar ache in her side, washed over Sarah.

She turned to leave, the disgust thick in her throat.

Jessica materialized in front of her, blocking her path.

Her eyes glittered with triumph.

"Well, well, look who decided to show up. Come to beg him to take you back?"

She smirked. "Too late, sweetie. He's moved on. You should leave. With dignity, if you have any left."