Chapter 3

Mark stared at me, his charming facade finally cracking to reveal a flash of genuine surprise, then contempt.

"A divorce? Don't be ridiculous, Sarah. You're just emotional because of the dog. We'll talk about this at home."

"There's nothing to talk about," I said, my voice flat, devoid of the tears that threatened.

"You've made your choice. You chose her, and you chose to destroy something I loved without a second thought."

Jessica chimed in, her voice sickly sweet, "Sarah, dear, don't be like this. Mark loves you. We were just celebrating my birthday, and the baby news..."

"Her birthday?" I looked at Mark, a new layer of sickness rising in me.

Thanksgiving Day was Jessica's birthday celebration.

Emily then ran to Mark, burying her face in his side.

"Daddy, make her go away! She's ruining everything!" she wailed, pointing an accusing finger at me.

"You're mean, Mommy! I hate you!"

My heart, already shattered, seemed to crumble into dust.

Emily's words, her genuine hatred, were worse than Mark's betrayal or Jessica's smugness.

I looked at the three of them, a grotesque parody of a happy family, and a chilling clarity settled over me.

This wasn't a sudden lapse in judgment on Mark's part, this was a long-planned demolition of my life.

"Fine," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"Ruin it."

I turned and walked out of the restaurant, the stares of other diners burning my back.

I didn't look back.

My mind was a blank, a buzzing numbness replacing the storm of emotions.

Back home, the silence was deafening.

Buster's empty bed in the corner of the living room was a gaping wound.

I walked through the house like a ghost, the place we'd built our lives, now feeling alien and cold.

My eyes landed on the door to Mark's den, the one he always kept locked, claiming it was for "sensitive work files."

He'd always been so secretive about it.

A sudden, reckless impulse took over.

I found the spare key he thought I didn't know about, hidden behind a loose tile in the laundry room.

My hands trembled as I unlocked the door.

The room wasn't filled with work files.

It was a shrine to Jessica.

Years of emails, printed out and bound, chronicling their undying love, his resentment for his "settled" life with me.

Photos of them together, laughing, kissing, on secret vacations I never knew about.

Expensive gifts – jewelry, designer bags, things he claimed we couldn't afford – all meticulously documented with receipts.

He had never truly loved me, I was just a placeholder, a convenient wife while he pined for her.

And Emily... in one particularly flowery email to Jessica, he'd referred to our daughter, my daughter, as "our legacy, my darling, the beautiful result of our enduring love, even if the world doesn't know it yet."

My breath caught in my throat.

What did that mean?

He was siphoning money from the dealership, money he told me we didn't have, to support Jessica's "influencer" lifestyle, faking financial troubles to keep me working extra shifts, to keep me subdued and grateful for his "efforts."

The scale of his deception was staggering.