Chapter 3

Ethan' s face tightened, his charismatic mask slipping to reveal the raw anger beneath. "Don't be a fool, Evelyn. You're emotional right now. You're not thinking clearly."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a checkbook. He scribbled something quickly and tore out the check, holding it out to her. "Here. Take this. Go buy yourself something nice. We'll talk when you've calmed down."

Evelyn glanced at the check. It was for a million dollars. A payment. A transaction to smooth over his betrayal. The insult was so profound it almost made her laugh. She looked at the paper in his hand and then back at his face, her expression one of utter contempt. She didn't take it. She just stared at him until he let his hand fall, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

Suddenly, Tiffany let out a sharp cry. "Ouch!"

Both Evelyn and Ethan turned. Tiffany was clutching her arm, her face contorted in pain. She had stumbled against the corner of a packing box. A small, thin scratch, barely red, was visible on her forearm.

"Oh, Ethan, I think I'm bleeding," she whimpered, her eyes filling with tears. "Evelyn, why did you leave these boxes all over the floor? You did this on purpose."

It was a masterful performance. The accusation was so absurd, so transparently manipulative, that Evelyn was momentarily speechless.

But Ethan rushed to Tiffany's side immediately. "Let me see, sweetheart. Are you okay?" He examined the tiny scratch with the gravity of a surgeon inspecting a mortal wound. He glared back at Evelyn, his voice laced with venom. "What is wrong with you? Can't you see she's hurt? You've always been so careless, so wrapped up in your own world."

The injustice of it hit Evelyn with the force of a physical impact. He was coddling the woman he'd had an affair with over a fabricated injury, while simultaneously accusing her, the wife he had cheated on, of being the aggressor.

A painful memory surfaced, unbidden. A few years ago, before his accident, Evelyn had been sick with a terrible flu. She couldn't even get out of bed. Ethan had stayed home from work for three days. He had brought her soup, checked her temperature, read to her until she fell asleep. He had cared for her with a tenderness that had made her feel like the most precious person in the world.

That man was gone. Or perhaps he had never existed at all. The man standing in front of her now, doting on her niece, was a stranger.

"I'm going to take you to get that looked at," Ethan said to Tiffany, his voice dripping with concern. He helped her toward the door as if she were made of fragile glass. "We can't be too careful."

Evelyn stood frozen in the middle of her half-packed life, watching them leave. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving her in a silence that was heavier than any sound.

An hour later, her phone buzzed. It was a notification from a social media app she rarely used. Tiffany had posted a new photo. It was a picture of her arm, now sporting an absurdly large bandage. She was holding it up for the camera, pouting sadly. Ethan's hand was in the frame, gently caressing her shoulder.

The caption read: A little accident today, but my amazing husband is taking such good care of me. Feeling so loved and protected. #blessed #truelove

The public performance of his affection, the deliberate twisting of the truth to paint Evelyn as the villain and Tiffany as the victim, was the final straw. It was a calculated act of psychological warfare.

A wave of dizziness washed over Evelyn. The stress, the lack of sleep, the emotional devastation of the past weeks finally caught up with her. A sharp pain lanced through her abdomen, a brutal, cramping agony. She doubled over, gasping for breath, her hand flying to her stomach.

The physical pain was a mirror of her emotional state. She felt gutted, hollowed out. She stumbled to the bathroom, her vision tunneling. She collapsed onto the cold tile floor, the world fading to black as the pain consumed her.