Chapter 2 - Everything Highlighted in Yellow
I read page thirty-seven three times.
The words didn’t change.
Neither did the numbers.
For nearly a year, I had been moving money into an investment account connected to a small holding company I had created before Noah was born.
Not stolen money.
Not illegal money.
My money.
At least that was what I had always told myself.
That distinction suddenly felt pathetic.
Maren and I had agreed that once she became pregnant, we would make major financial decisions together. We had talked about buying a larger home outside the city. College savings. Life insurance. A trust for Noah.
Instead, I had quietly diverted part of my bonuses into investments Maren knew nothing about.
Why?
Because I liked having something that belonged only to me.
Because I told myself a successful man should always maintain independence.
Because my father had spent my childhood warning me never to let another person know everything about my finances.
Because secrecy had become a habit long before Cassie became one.
The report showed transfers.
Dates.
Amounts.
And something worse.
One transfer had happened two days after Maren asked whether we could hire a night nurse twice a week because she was exhausted.
I had told her we needed to be careful with money.
Then I moved fifty thousand dollars into the private account.
I leaned back.
“Oh God.”
That memory hurt more than any photograph.
Maren standing barefoot in the kitchen.
Noah crying against her shoulder.
Dark circles beneath her eyes.
“I just need two nights, Damien. Maybe even one. I’m so tired I’m scared I’ll fall asleep holding him.”
I had kissed her forehead.
“We’ll figure something out.”
Then I had gone upstairs and transferred money into an account she didn’t know existed.
I hadn’t thought of it as cruelty.
That was the problem.
I hadn’t thought of Maren enough to understand how cruel I had become.
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
Mr. Hale, this is Rebecca Sloan, counsel for Maren Hale. Please direct communications concerning the divorce and temporary parenting arrangements through my office. Maren and Noah are safe.
I called immediately.
Rebecca answered.
“Mr. Hale.”
“Where is my son?”
“Safe with his mother.”
“I want to see him.”
“We can arrange that.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow, if you agree to the temporary conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“No confrontation with Maren. No attempt to remove Noah. The visit will occur at my office.”
My pride surged.
“My son doesn’t need supervised visits with his father.”
“This isn’t a supervised visitation order. It is an interim arrangement Maren is offering voluntarily until both attorneys can discuss a parenting schedule.”
I hated how reasonable she sounded.
“I haven’t done anything to Noah.”
“No one said you did.”
“Then why can’t Maren bring him home?”
Rebecca paused.
“Because it is no longer her home.”
The sentence landed harder than I expected.
I looked around.
The penthouse suddenly felt enormous.
“When can I see him?”
“Ten tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be there.”
After hanging up, I went upstairs.
The bracelet still lay on the nursery floor.
I picked it up.
Twenty-two thousand dollars.
That was what I had spent.
Twenty-two thousand dollars on a woman who had never once gotten up at three in the morning with my son.
Twenty-two thousand dollars while telling my exhausted wife we should “be careful” about hiring help.
I snapped the box shut.
Then Cassie called.
I stared at her name.
Normally, seeing it had given me a thrill.
Tonight, it made me feel sick.
I answered.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Did she like the story?”
“What story?”
Cassie laughed.
“The client dinner. You said Maren asked why you were late.”
I didn’t answer.
“Damien?”
“She left.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Maren took Noah and left.”
Another pause.
Then Cassie said, “Does she know?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Everything.”
Cassie inhaled sharply.
“About us?”
“Yes.”
“That’s... Damien, I’m sorry.”
Something about her tone bothered me.
Not because it was cruel.
Because it was cautious.
Calculated.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
“I just think maybe this means you don’t have to hide anymore.”
I closed my eyes.
My wife had left me hours earlier.
My three-month-old son was somewhere else.
And Cassie was already imagining the vacancy Maren had created as an opportunity.
“Don’t,” I said.
“What?”
“Don’t make this about us.”
“Damien, you bought me a diamond bracelet tonight.”
I looked at the box.
“I know.”
“You told me you loved me.”
“I know.”
“Then what did you think was going to happen?”
That question followed me long after the call ended.
What had I thought would happen?
That Maren would never discover it?
That Cassie would remain satisfied with stolen dinners and hotel rooms?
That Noah would grow up and somehow never notice the distance between his parents?
I had lived as though consequences were things that happened to careless people.
I had been careful.
Or so I thought.
The next morning, I arrived at Rebecca Sloan’s office twenty minutes early.
I hadn’t slept.
At exactly ten, the elevator opened.
Maren stepped out carrying Noah.
Everything inside me stopped.
She looked exhausted.
Beautiful, but exhausted.
Her hair was pulled back.
No makeup.
Simple jeans.
A cream sweater.
No wedding ring.
That absence caught my attention immediately.
Then Noah made a tiny sound.
I crossed the room before I could stop myself.
“Can I hold him?”
Maren hesitated.
Only for a second.
Then she handed me our son.
Noah smelled like baby lotion and milk.
I pressed my face against his head.
My eyes burned.
“Hey, buddy.”
His tiny fingers caught the collar of my shirt.
I nearly broke.
Maren turned away.
I looked at her.
“Maren.”
“Don’t.”
“Please.”
“This is about Noah.”
“I know.”
“No, Damien. I don’t think you do.”
Rebecca quietly left us several feet of space.
I lowered my voice.
“I read everything.”
“All thirty-seven pages?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes met mine.
“And?”
“I’m sorry.”
Maren’s expression barely changed.
“Sorry for which part?”
I had no answer.
She nodded.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Maren, I was wrong.”
“You were lying to me before Cassie.”
“I know.”
“You made me believe we couldn’t afford help.”
“I know.”
“I was sleeping ninety minutes at a time, Damien.”
“I know.”
“No. You know now.”
That stopped me.
She continued quietly.
“You didn’t know then because you didn’t want to know.”
Noah stirred against my chest.
I looked down.
Maren’s voice softened.
“I kept thinking the affair would be the thing that finally made me hate you.”
I looked at her.
“It wasn’t?”
“No.”
“What was?”
“The money.”
I flinched.
She nodded.
“Because the affair told me you wanted another woman. The money told me you had been building a life where I was never truly your partner.”
“Maren—”
“And then there was the insurance.”
My stomach dropped.
“What insurance?”
She studied my face.
For one second, neither of us spoke.
Then she reached into her bag.
She removed another envelope.
“I wondered if you’d pretend you didn’t know.”
“I don’t.”
Her expression changed.
For the first time, I saw uncertainty.
She handed me the envelope.
Inside was a copy of a life-insurance document.
My name.
Maren’s name.
A policy.
But something was wrong.
The beneficiary information had been changed.
I stared at it.
“I didn’t do this.”
Maren’s face hardened.
“Damien—”
“I swear to you.”
“You’ve lied for months.”
“I know. But I didn’t do this.”
The beneficiary listed wasn’t me.
It wasn’t Noah.
It was a company.
The same company connected to the private account.
My company.
Except I had never connected it to Maren’s life-insurance policy.
I looked up.
“When did you find this?”
“Yesterday.”
“This wasn’t in the investigator’s original report?”
“No. He found it during the financial review.”
I looked back at the document.
Something inside me shifted.
The affair was real.
My lies were real.
My secret account was real.
But this?
This wasn’t mine.
“Maren, call the investigator.”
“Why?”
“Because someone accessed this account.”
She folded her arms.
“Damien—”
“Please.”
Maybe she saw something different in my face.
Maybe after nine years she could still tell the difference between the lies I had rehearsed and the truth that terrified me.
She took out her phone.
The investigator answered on the third ring.
Maren put him on speaker.
“This is Maren.”
“Good morning.”
“Damien is here.”
Silence.
Then the investigator said, “Actually, I was about to call you.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Why?” Maren asked.
“I checked the authorization trail on that insurance change.”
“And?”
“It wasn’t submitted from Damien’s office.”
I gripped the document.
“Where was it submitted?”
The investigator paused.
“From an IP address registered to someone else.”
Maren looked at me.
I already knew the answer before he said it.
And when the name came through the speaker, I felt the floor disappear beneath me.
May you like
“Cassie Monroe.”
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