…attached to a scratched plastic fob from the rundown Starlight Motel on the edge of town.
Mark stared at the cheap brass key resting in his palm, his brow furrowing. He looked from the key to the pristine, two-story townhouse standing in front of us, the confusion on his face slowly warping into quiet panic.
“What is this, babe?” he asked, his voice wavering, the fake, loving husband facade cracking around the edges. “I thought you said you had a surprise for us.”
“Oh, it’s a surprise, Mark, just not for us,” I said, my voice eerily calm. I leaned back against the leather seats of the car. “You see, when the bank called to confirm that $80,000 wire for your ‘investment opportunity,’ I didn’t just decline it. As a joint account holder, I flagged it as fraudulent. Then, I had our shared accounts frozen and legally transferred my half—plus the entirety of my private inheritance you conveniently tried to dip into—into an account solely in my name.”
All the color drained from his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but I held up a finger, silencing him.
“I read your emails, Mark. Every single one of them. I know about this townhouse. I know about the ‘down payment.’ And I know about Chloe. I hope the baby weight she’s putting on is easier to train away than the weight of reality she just got hit with.”
“You… you went through my iPad?” he stammered, completely ignoring the sheer cruelty of what he had done to me while I was mourning our child in a hospital bed.
“I did more than that,” I smiled, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “I sent Chloe a message this morning. I forwarded her the bank statements showing your newly frozen assets, along with a copy of the divorce papers my lawyer expedited yesterday. Turns out, Chloe’s sudden desire to build a family with you was highly contingent on that eighty grand clearing. She told me to tell you not to bother knocking. She’s moving back to her mother’s.”
Mark frantically pulled out his phone, his thumbs flying across the screen. I watched the realization wash over him as his texts inevitably showed up as green, undelivered bubbles. She had already blocked him.
“Your clothes are in three black garbage bags in the trunk of this car,” I said, hitting the button to pop the trunk. “I suggest you grab them before my driver pulls away. Room 114 at the Starlight is paid up for exactly three nights. After that, you’re on your own.”
“You can’t do this!” he finally yelled, the tears welling in his eyes completely genuine this time. “I have nothing!”
“You had everything,” I corrected him, the coldness in my chest finally turning into a shield of armor. “And you threw it away for a few personal training sessions. Now, get out of my car.”
He stood frozen on the sidewalk, clutching the motel key and a trash bag full of designer suits, staring at the front door of the luxury townhouse he thought he was going to buy with my money. I rolled up the window, told the driver to head to my lawyer’s office, and for the first time since waking up in that hospital bed, I took a deep, clear breath.
