Chapter 4

Sifting through the contents of the den was like peeling back layers of my own skin, each discovery more painful than the last.

There were restaurant receipts, not just for him and Jessica, but for him and Emily.

Dozens of them, from expensive places, places I was told we couldn't afford.

He'd been taking Emily out for lavish meals regularly, framing them as "father-daughter bonding time."

In one sickening email to Jessica, he boasted about how he'd told Emily these outings were a "secret test" of my loyalty, to see if I'd complain about the lack of money, thereby proving I wasn't supportive enough.

He was poisoning my daughter against me, systematically, cruelly.

My Emily, who now wished Jessica was her mom.

The realization was a cold, hard knot in my stomach.

I thought about confronting him with this, about hiring a lawyer immediately.

The evidence was overwhelming.

The emails, the financial records siphoning funds to Jessica, the sheer premeditation of it all.

This locked room was his undoing, a treasure trove of his deceit.

He had unknowingly handed me the weapon to destroy him, just as he had destroyed me.

The irony wasn't lost on me, but it brought no comfort, only a deeper ache.

For now, the most immediate pain was Buster.

My sweet, gentle Buster.

I couldn't save him from Mark's cruelty, not in time.

I sat on the floor, surrounded by the debris of my shattered marriage, and wept for my lost dog, for the love and comfort he'd so freely given, now extinguished by Mark's selfish whim.

There would be no real funeral, no grave to visit, just this hollow ache in my chest.

I knew I had to be strong, to fight back, but in that moment, all I felt was a crushing weariness.

I needed to focus, to channel this grief and rage into action.

My job at the library, the place where I found solace among books and quiet, suddenly seemed like the only stable thing in my life.

I would need my strength, and my income, for the battle ahead.

The next few days were a blur of forced normalcy.

I went to work, smiled at the children, helped them find books, all while a storm raged inside me.

Mark was barely home, and when he was, we existed in a state of icy silence.

One evening, he tried to talk, to smooth things over.

"Sarah, we need to discuss Emily. This divorce idea is insane. Think about her."

The mention of Emily, after what I'd discovered about his manipulation of her, sent a fresh wave of despair through me.

Her cruelty, her siding with him and Jessica, it cut deeper than anything Mark had done directly to me.

I was so tired, so utterly broken by it all.

In a moment of pure, unadulterated exhaustion and heartbreak, during a brief, bitter exchange where he accused me of being hysterical, I heard myself say the words I never thought I would utter.

"You want her, Mark? You want full custody? Fine. Take her. I can't... I can't do this anymore."

The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

He just stared, a flicker of surprise, then a slow, calculating smile spread across his face.

He didn't even try to argue.