Chapter 4

Mark' s parents, the Johnsons, were less subtle. They sat stiffly on the hotel' s uncomfortable sofa, their faces grim.

"Sarah," Mr. Johnson began, his tone heavy, "Mark has told us he made an error. A serious one. But he' s willing to work on the marriage. For Lily' s sake."

Mrs. Johnson chimed in, her voice sharp. "You know, custody battles can get very ugly. And very expensive. Mark is financially secure. You... well, you' ve been out of the workforce for a while."

It was a veiled threat, but clear enough. They were emphasizing his financial stability versus my current lack of income. I felt cornered, trapped. My own parents, usually my staunchest supporters, were siding with the idea of reconciliation, swayed by Mark' s carefully constructed narrative and their traditional views on family unity. "You made vows, Sarah," my father had said quietly. "For better or worse."

Before Mark, before Lily, I was a rising star at a top marketing agency in Phoenix. I loved my job. I was good at it. Then Mark' s career took off, requiring more travel, more support from me. When Lily came, it seemed natural for me to step back, to focus on her, especially with his demanding schedule. He' d promised it was temporary, that my career could resume. Now, that sacrifice, that choice made out of love and for our family, was being twisted into a weapon against me. My lack of recent income, my "gap" in employment, was my biggest vulnerability.

The stress was a constant knot in my stomach. I barely ate. Sleep was a luxury I couldn' t afford, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. In just a few weeks, I' d lost a noticeable amount of weight. My clothes hung loosely. I looked in the mirror and saw a stranger, haunted and frail. The isolation was crushing. Everyone seemed to think I should just forgive and forget, for Lily' s sake. No one seemed to understand the depth of the betrayal, the systematic deception.

But they didn' t know everything.

Unbeknownst to Mark, or our parents, the moment I' d gotten back to Phoenix and checked into that hotel, my first call, after the initial shock wore off, hadn' t been to a friend to cry on their shoulder. It had been to Olivia Hayes.

Olivia, my best friend since college. Sharp, practical, fiercely loyal, and a paralegal at a prominent Phoenix law firm.

"Liv," I' d said, my voice trembling, "I need help. Real help."

She listened patiently as I poured out the whole sordid story, from the surprise visit to Ashley' s brazen appearance, to the "Auntie Ash" revelation.

"That absolute bastard," Olivia had seethed. "And that little homewrecker. Don't you worry, Sarah. We're not going to let him steamroll you."

With Olivia' s guidance, I quietly consulted a top-tier divorce attorney she recommended. The attorney was expensive, but Olivia helped me figure out a payment plan, even offering to lend me some of the retainer.

"You need the best, Sarah. He's going to fight dirty."

And on the attorney' s advice, I hired a private investigator in Austin.

For six long months, while Mark thought I was wavering, considering reconciliation under parental pressure, we were gathering evidence. The PI was good, discreet. Photos of Mark and Ashley on dates, entering her apartment late at night, leaving in the morning. Expense reports Mark had submitted for "client dinners" that were clearly romantic meals with Ashley. Credit card statements showing lavish gifts, hotel stays. Mark, believing I had caved or was too broken to fight, had become careless, his affair with Ashley now blatant.

Olivia was my rock. "He underestimated you, Sarah," she said during one of our late-night calls. "He thought he broke you. He has no idea who he's dealing with. You are strong. You are capable. And you deserve so much better than that lying, cheating scumbag." Her words were a lifeline, validating my anger and my resolve when everyone else was urging me to be "reasonable."