…her face turned PALE when I simply reached into the drawer Jake had been staring at—the junk drawer—and pulled out a thick, red velvet photo album.
Jake lunged forward. “Lisa, don’t!” he begged, his voice cracking. “Please, not that.”
I ignored him, sliding the album across the granite countertop toward the trembling girl. “Open it, Brianna.”
She looked from me to Jake, whose head was now buried in his hands. With shaking fingers, she flipped the cover.
“That’s Sarah,” I said, pointing to a photo of a blonde woman laughing on a beach. “She was 25. He told her I was a workaholic who neglected him.”
Brianna turned the page.
“That’s Emily. She was a barista. 22. He told her we were ‘sleeping in separate bedrooms’ and filing for divorce soon.”
Brianna’s eyes widened as she turned another page. Then another. There were dozens of them. Dates, names, and snippets of their lives written neatly under each photo.
“And this,” I said, flipping to the very back where a blank spot waited, “is where you would go. You’re number twelve, Brianna.”
“I… I didn’t know,” Brianna whispered, tears spilling over. “He told me you were crazy. He said you trapped him with a pregnancy scare years ago.”
“He has a script,” I said, taking a sip of my tea. “He recites it perfectly. And when the excitement wears off, or when the girl starts asking for him to actually leave me, he panics. Usually, that’s when I step in.”
Jake finally looked up, his face red with humiliation. “Lisa, stop it. You’re scaring her.”
“I’m saving her, Jake,” I replied coolly. Then I looked Brianna dead in the eye. “I knew about you three months ago. I knew about your daughter. I knew you were struggling with rent. I also know that Jake opened a credit card in your name last week to pay for that ‘business trip’ hotel, didn’t he?”
Brianna gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “How did you…?”
“Because he did it to Emily, and to Sarah,” I sighed. “Jake is charming, Brianna. But he is also a leech. He doesn’t have money; I do. The house, the cars, the bank accounts—they are in my name. He plays the rich, misunderstood husband, but he’s actually unemployed and living off an allowance I give him.”
I stood up and walked to the front door, opening it wide.
“My tea wasn’t poisoned, sweetheart,” I called back to the kitchen. “But the reality check is hard to swallow, isn’t it?”
I turned to Jake. “Your bags have been packed since this morning. They are on the front porch. The locks will be changed by noon tomorrow. Get out.”
Jake didn’t argue. He knew the drill, though he never expected it to end this permanently. He slunk past me, not daring to look at either of us, and walked out into the night.
I closed the door and locked it. The silence in the kitchen was heavy.
“Why?” Brianna asked, her voice small. “Why didn’t you scream at me? Why did you make me tea?”
“Because you have a three-year-old daughter,” I said softy, picking up her empty cup and placing it in the sink. “And I didn’t want you to waste ten years of your life on a man who sees women as collectibles. Consider this a painful gift.”
I handed her a folded piece of paper.
“What is this?” she asked.
“A receipt. I paid off that credit card he opened in your name. Cancel it tomorrow. Go home to your daughter, Brianna. And find a man who doesn’t have to hide you in a drawer.”
She looked at me, stunned, clutching the paper like a lifeline. She didn’t say thank you—she couldn’t find the words—but the look in her eyes changed from fear to clarity. She nodded once, grabbed her purse, and ran out the door.
I watched her go, then finally sat down to finish my tea. It was getting cold, but for the first time in twelve years, the house felt peaceful.
