Chapter 2 - The Woman in the Photograph
“What are you doing with my bag?”
That was the first thing Mark said.
Not I'm sorry.
Not I can explain.
Not even Who sent you that?
He wanted to know why I had touched his bag.
I turned my phone toward him.
“Who is Vanessa Cole?”
Mark stopped.
Claire was still beside me.
Noah and Lily were only a few feet away.
“Kids,” Claire said quickly, “how about we find Uncle Ethan?”
Noah looked at me.
“Mom?”
“Go with Aunt Claire.”
He hesitated.
“Please.”
Claire took both children outside.
The door closed.
Mark and I were alone.
I held up the receipt.
“Eighteen thousand dollars.”
His eyes flicked toward it.
“It's not what you think.”
“Then tell me what I think.”
“Rebecca—”
“Tell me.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“It's an investment.”
I laughed once.
It sounded terrible.
“You stole eighteen thousand dollars from my business reserve account for an investment?”
“I didn't steal anything.”
“Did I authorize it?”
“We're married.”
“That isn't authorization.”
“It's our money.”
“No. That account belongs to Bennett Creative LLC.”
His expression hardened.
There it was.
The switch.
Whenever Mark couldn't defend his behavior, he attacked my tone.
“You're getting hysterical.”
I stared at him.
“Hysterical?”
“You're obviously emotional after what happened outside.”
“What happened outside?”
He sighed.
“The joke.”
“The joke.”
“Yes.”
“You publicly humiliated me, Mark.”
“I said Claire was attractive.”
“You told everyone she was more beautiful than your wife.”
“I was teasing.”
“And now eighteen thousand dollars is missing.”
He stepped closer.
“Lower your voice.”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
That one word bothered him more than anything else I had said.
For years, I had negotiated with Mark.
Softened things.
Rephrased things.
Waited until he was in a better mood.
I was done.
“Who is Vanessa?”
“A business contact.”
“Then why are you holding her hand?”
He glanced at the photograph.
“Who sent you that?”
“I asked you a question.”
“And I'm asking who sent you this.”
“I don't know.”
He reached for my phone.
I pulled it away.
“Don't.”
“Rebecca.”
“Don't touch my phone.”
He froze.
The patio door opened.
Ethan entered.
“Everything okay?”
“No,” I said.
Mark answered simultaneously.
“Yes.”
Ethan looked between us.
Then at the folder.
“What happened?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” Mark said.
“Actually,” I said, “your brother transferred eighteen thousand dollars out of my company without permission.”
Ethan stared at him.
“You did what?”
Mark groaned.
“Great. Let's make this everybody's business.”
“You made our marriage everybody's business twenty minutes ago.”
He pointed at me.
“You're doing this because you're embarrassed.”
“No. I'm doing this because money is missing.”
Ethan picked up the statement.
His expression changed as he read.
“Mark.”
“Stay out of it.”
“Where did this go?”
Mark snatched the paper.
“I said stay out of it.”
Then my phone vibrated again.
Same unknown number.
Another photograph.
A jewelry-store receipt.
Diamond bracelet.
$7,800.
Purchased by Mark Bennett.
My throat tightened.
A message appeared beneath it.
THAT WASN'T THE ONLY GIFT.
Mark saw my face.
“What?”
I showed him.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Ethan whispered, “Jesus.”
Mark's anger disappeared.
Something worse replaced it.
Fear.
“Rebecca, listen to me.”
“Did you buy Vanessa a bracelet?”
“It isn't that simple.”
“Yes or no?”
Silence.
“Mark.”
“Yes.”
The word landed quietly.
Maybe betrayal always does.
I had imagined that if I ever discovered an affair, I would scream.
I didn't.
I looked down at the bank receipt.
Eighteen thousand dollars.
Then the bracelet.
Seven thousand eight hundred.
Twenty-five thousand eight hundred dollars.
While I was working after midnight.
While I was worrying about college funds.
While I was comparing grocery prices.
While Mark told me we couldn't afford to replace the dishwasher.
I looked at him.
“How long?”
“Rebecca—”
“How long have you been seeing her?”
“We aren't—”
“How long?”
“Four months.”
Ethan turned away.
I felt strangely calm.
“Did you sleep with her?”
Mark said nothing.
That was an answer.
I nodded.
Once.
“Okay.”
“Rebecca.”
“Okay.”
I started gathering the documents.
“What are you doing?”
“Protecting what's left.”
He stepped in front of me.
“You aren't taking my things.”
“These are statements from my company.”
“Our company.”
“No. My company.”
“I helped you build it.”
I looked at him.
“When?”
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
“When did you help me build it, Mark?”
“I supported you.”
“You mocked it for the first three years.”
“I introduced you to clients.”
“One client.”
“That client was worth money.”
“Four thousand dollars.”
He stared at me.
“I have paid for this family for two years.”
“You want a medal?”
The sentence came out before he could stop it.
Ethan's head snapped toward him.
I simply looked at Mark.
Something inside me went quiet.
Very quiet.
“No,” I said. “I want a divorce.”
Mark blinked.
“What?”
“I want a divorce.”
“You don't mean that.”
“I do.”
“Because of one mistake?”
“No.”
I looked through the glass doors at the pool.
Guests were pretending not to watch.
“This isn't one mistake.”
I turned back.
“The affair is one betrayal. The money is another. What happened outside is another. But the real problem is that somewhere along the way, you became comfortable hurting me because you believed I would always stay.”
His expression changed.
“Rebecca, don't do something stupid.”
“I'm finally doing something intelligent.”
I walked upstairs.
He followed.
“What are you doing?”
“Packing.”
“This is your house too.”
“I know.”
“So why are you leaving?”
“Because our children are here, there are forty people outside, and I'm not turning their father's birthday into a police scene.”
“You're being dramatic.”
I stopped halfway down the hall.
“You stole company money.”
“I borrowed it.”
“You committed an unauthorized transfer.”
“We're married!”
“You keep saying that like marriage is permission.”
He stared at me.
I entered our bedroom.
My bedroom.
For eleven years.
Our wedding photograph stood on the dresser.
I looked at the younger version of myself.
She believed love meant endurance.
I wanted to reach through the glass and tell her something.
Endurance is only love when both people are carrying something.
Otherwise, it's exploitation.
I packed clothes for myself and the children.
Mark paced.
“You're really going to throw away eleven years?”
“I didn't throw them away.”
“You're breaking this family.”
“You brought another woman into our marriage.”
“It was four months!”
“Do you hear yourself?”
He stopped.
I zipped the suitcase.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A woman's voice.
“Rebecca Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Vanessa Cole.”
Mark lunged toward me.
I stepped away.
Vanessa continued.
“I think you deserve to know what your husband has been planning.”
Mark's face went white.
“Hang up.”
I stared at him.
Vanessa took a shaky breath.
“He told me your marriage was already over.”
“Rebecca, hang up.”
“And he told me that after tonight, he would have enough money to leave.”
I felt cold.
“What do you mean, after tonight?”
Silence.
Then Vanessa said:
“Check the documents under the false bottom of his bag.”
Mark ran for the stairs.
Ethan blocked him.
I went back to the kitchen.
The leather bag was still there.
I emptied it.
Nothing.
Then I pressed against the bottom.
The lining moved.
I pulled it up.
Underneath were three documents.
The first contained my signature.
Except I had never signed it.
The second was a loan application.
The third was secured against our home.
I looked at the amount.
$240,000.
And at the bottom was a scheduled funding date.
Monday.
Three days away.
Then I saw the handwritten note clipped behind it.
Once funds clear, move everything before she notices.
I looked up.
May you like
Mark stood in the doorway.
And behind him, two police officers were walking across the patio.
