MISTRESS: “Yes? Can I help you?”<\/p>\n
WIFE: “I think you can. I’m Jake’s wife.”<\/p>\n
MISTRESS: “His… wife?”<\/p>\n
WIFE: “That’s right. Martha. The woman paying the bills. The one he’s building his dream farm with.”<\/p>\n
MISTRESS: “Why are you here? To call me a witch? Tell me to stay away?”<\/p>\n
WIFE: “Who are you to my husband? Why did he come here instead of going to the business meeting?”<\/p>\n
MISTRESS: “I’m the woman he’s… actually in love with,” she finished, though her bravado faltered under Martha\u2019s icy, unblinking gaze. “He told me the farm was just his little pet project. A hobby. He said he was a self-made agricultural developer.”<\/p>\n
Martha let out a laugh that held absolutely zero humor. It was a dry, scraping sound in the quiet hallway. Without waiting for an invitation, she stepped past the younger woman and into the meticulously decorated apartment. Her eyes swept over the plush velvet furniture, the modern art on the walls, and the sweeping view of the city skyline.<\/p>\n
“A developer,” Martha echoed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “He hasn’t developed anything but a talent for forging my signature on the joint account checks.”<\/p>\n
The mistress\u2014whose name, Martha suddenly recalled from the erratic cell phone bill, was Clara\u2014crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “He pays for this apartment. He bought the Mercedes parked out front. You’re just bitter because he’s spending his money on our future instead of yours.”<\/p>\n
“No, sweetie,” Martha corrected smoothly, running a manicured finger over a pristine marble kitchen island. “I bought the Mercedes. That car? That was supposed to be the fencing for the north pasture. This marble countertop? That’s the down payment on the new tractor. My name is on the deed, the business license, and the bank accounts. Jake is just an employee. A poorly performing one, at that.”<\/p>\n
Clara\u2019s face lost its color, her defensive posture crumbling into uncertainty. “You’re lying. He told me he was leaving you. That he was just waiting to buy you out of your half.”<\/p>\n
“Buy me out with what?” Martha asked, pulling her phone from her leather purse. Her thumbs moved swiftly across the screen. “He doesn’t have a dime that doesn’t pass through my approval first.”<\/p>\n
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the soft chimes of Martha’s phone as she navigated her banking app.<\/p>\n
“Transferring the remaining farm funds to my private account,” Martha narrated calmly, mostly to herself. “Freezing the joint credit cards… and, oh look, there goes his corporate expense account. The one he used to buy your groceries.”<\/p>\n
She locked her phone and slipped it back into her purse, turning to face a now-trembling Clara. All the anger that had propelled Martha across town suddenly evaporated, replaced by a cold, clinical clarity. The dream farm was dead, but she owned the land it was meant to be built on. Jake had nothing.<\/p>\n
“When Jake finally shows up,” Martha said, her tone almost conversational, “tell him his ‘pet project’ just fired him. He\u2019ll be needing a place to stay permanently, and seeing as his cards will start declining in about five minutes, I hope you can afford this rent on your own.”<\/p>\n
Martha walked back to the front door, pausing with her hand on the brass knob. She looked back at Clara, offering a tight, pitying smile.<\/p>\n
“Good luck with the self-made man.”<\/p>\n
With the soft click of the door closing behind her, Martha walked away, leaving the ruins of her marriage behind to build an empire of her own.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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