Chapter 4
Rachel made a sound I had never heard before.
It wasn’t exactly crying.
It was closer to choking.
“Marcus, stop.”
I kept the phone against my ear.
“What baby?”
Marcus was silent now.
Suddenly, he sounded less confident.
Rachel stood quickly.
“There was no baby.”
Marcus whispered, “Rachel.”
She pointed toward the phone.
“You stay out of this.”
I stared at her.
“Were you pregnant?”
“No.”
Marcus exhaled.
“Yes.”
Rachel screamed.
“I said shut up!”
I backed away from her.
The rage in her face was so intense that I barely recognized her.
“When?”
My voice was strangely calm.
Rachel looked at me.
“Daniel.”
“When were you pregnant?”
She wiped her cheeks.
“Last year.”
The timeline hit immediately.
Last year.
When Rachel had told me she was exhausted from work.
When she stopped drinking wine for almost two months because she said she was trying a new diet.
When she suddenly had a “stomach virus” that kept her in bed for a weekend.
I remembered bringing her soup.
I remembered sitting beside her and rubbing her back.
I remembered her crying into my chest.
At the time, she said she was overwhelmed by work.
Now I knew better.
“How far along?”
She whispered, “Eight weeks.”
My fingers went numb.
“What happened?”
Rachel stared past me.
“I lost it.”
Marcus said quietly through the phone, “That’s what she told me too.”
Rachel went still.
I looked at the phone.
“What does that mean?”
Marcus hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
“Marcus.”
“She told me she miscarried.”
Rachel’s face had gone white.
“But?”
I could hear him breathing.
“But I drove her to a clinic.”
Rachel lunged again.
This time I didn’t stop her from taking the phone.
She ended the call and threw it onto the bed.
“How dare you?”
I stared at her.
“You went to a clinic?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“He drove you there.”
“He drove me to a building.”
“What building?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Rachel.”
“I was scared!”
“Of what?”
“Everything!”
She wrapped her arms around herself.
I had never seen a person collapse emotionally while still standing.
“I didn’t know whose baby it was.”
My stomach turned.
There it was.
The sentence I had been dreading.
I sat down because my legs could no longer hold me.
Rachel cried harder.
“I’m sorry.”
I stared at the carpet.
She moved toward me.
I lifted one hand.
“Don’t.”
She stopped immediately.
“I’m so sorry.”
“How long?”
“The affair?”
I looked up.
“Yes.”
“Five months.”
“Marcus said a year.”
“We knew each other for a year.”
“You slept with him for five months.”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Daniel, please.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
I laughed quietly.
“You don’t know.”
“Maybe six.”
I stared at her.
“Maybe?”
“Nine. I don’t know.”
“Try.”
She shut her eyes.
“Eleven.”
The number landed like a physical blow.
I looked away.
“Where?”
“Daniel.”
“Where?”
“Hotels.”
“Paid with our money?”
She didn't answer.
Of course.
“Our savings?”
“Sometimes.”
I stood up.
“Get out.”
Her eyes opened.
“What?”
“Get out of this room.”
“Daniel—”
“Go downstairs.”
“This is my bedroom too.”
“I don’t care.”
“We have to talk.”
“I cannot look at you right now.”
She stepped closer.
“Please.”
“Rachel, if you have ever loved me, leave this room.”
That stopped her.
She stood there for several seconds.
Then she walked out.
I locked the door behind her.
For the next ten minutes, I stood in the center of our bedroom and tried to breathe.
I didn’t cry.
Not yet.
I was too shocked.
Too much had happened too quickly.
My mother’s missing rent.
The secret debt.
The drained savings.
The fake story about Rachel’s father.
Marcus.
The affair.
A pregnancy.
A clinic.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from Marcus.
I almost ignored it.
Then I opened it.
I’m sorry. I thought you knew more than you did.
I stared at the screen.
Another message appeared.
You should check your credit.
I frowned.
What does that mean?
Three dots.
Then:
Rachel opened cards in my name too. She told me she did the same with you.
I stopped breathing.
I typed:
How do you know?
His reply came immediately.
Because that’s why I ended it.
I called him.
He answered after one ring.
“What cards?”
Marcus sounded exhausted.
“Rachel had access to my information because I was stupid.”
“What information?”
“Social Security number. Date of birth. Everything.”
“Why would you give her that?”
“I didn't exactly hand it to her. She helped me apply for a lease.”
I closed my eyes.
“And?”
“A few months later, I found a card I didn’t recognize. Nine thousand dollar limit. Almost maxed.”
“Did you report it?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She begged me not to.”
“So you knew she steals identities.”
“I knew she used my information.”
“And you kept sleeping with her?”
“That was when I ended it.”
I wanted to reach through the phone.
“You threatened to tell me unless she paid you.”
“No.”
“She gave you seventy-five hundred dollars.”
“Because she owed me.”
“For what?”
“The credit card.”
I paused.
“She paid off part of the fraud?”
“Yes.”
“And you accepted money stolen from our savings.”
“I didn’t know where it came from.”
“You knew she was married.”
Silence.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not innocent.”
“I never said I was.”
For some reason, that answer made me hate him slightly less.
At least he admitted it.
“What did you mean when you said she did the same thing with me?”
“She told me you’d never notice because you never checked your credit.”
My blood went cold.
I immediately opened a credit monitoring app.
I had used it years before but rarely looked.
I entered my information.
The report loaded.
My stomach dropped.
Four open credit cards I recognized.
Two I didn’t.
One personal loan.
$18,400.
My name.
Opened eleven months ago.
I sat down hard.
“Eighteen thousand dollars.”
Marcus was quiet.
“Yeah.”
“You knew?”
“She mentioned a loan.”
I felt sick.
“Anything else?”
He hesitated.
“What?”
“Check whether your house has a home equity line.”
I almost laughed.
“We don’t have one.”
“You sure?”
I hung up.
Then I walked downstairs.
Rachel was sitting at the dining table, exactly where the night had started.
Her hands were folded.
Her eyes were red.
She looked at me.
I put my phone on the table.
“Did you take out a loan in my name?”
Her entire expression changed.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
I nodded slowly.
“You did.”
“Daniel.”
“Eighteen thousand four hundred dollars.”
“I was going to pay it.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I was.”
“You stole my identity.”
“I’m your wife.”
“That does not give you the right to forge my name.”
“I didn’t forge anything.”
“How did you apply?”
“Online.”
“With my Social Security number.”
She looked down.
“Yes.”
“Did I authorize it?”
“No.”
“Then you committed fraud.”
She began crying again.
“Please don’t talk like that.”
“What language would you prefer?”
“I made mistakes.”
“A mistake is forgetting to pay the electric bill.”
I leaned forward.
“You lied to a bank. You redirected my mother’s rent. You opened credit accounts in my name. You took money from our savings. You had an affair. You got pregnant and never told me.”
Rachel suddenly slammed her hand on the table.
“And you want to know why?”
I stared at her.
She was shaking.
“Because I was drowning in this marriage!”
I laughed in disbelief.
“Oh, we’re doing this now?”
“You were never here!”
“I came home every night.”
“Your body did.”
I stepped back.
“You know what? Save it.”
“No! You are going to hear me.”
“I have heard enough.”
“You always chose everyone else.”
“Who?”
“Your mother. Your job. Your friends. Anyone who needed you.”
“And what did you need, Rachel?”
“You.”
“You had me.”
“No, I had whatever was left.”
Her words stung because there was probably some truth buried inside them.
Maybe I had worked too much.
Maybe I had been too focused on solving everyone’s problems.
Maybe Rachel had been lonely.
But loneliness did not explain this.
It did not excuse this.
“I’m not perfect,” I said.
She laughed through tears.
“That’s an understatement.”
“But I didn’t steal your identity because I felt neglected.”
She looked away.
“I didn’t sleep with another woman.”
Silence.
“I didn’t gamble away our savings.”
Her head snapped up.
“I don’t gamble.”
“Then where did the money go?”
She froze.
I watched her carefully.
“The cards. The personal loan. The savings. My mother’s rent.”
I began calculating aloud.
“Twenty-seven thousand from savings. Eighteen thousand loan. Nineteen thousand on your secret credit cards. Plus the rent.”
“Some of that overlaps.”
“How much money are we actually missing?”
She didn't answer.
“Rachel.”
She looked at the floor.
“About fifty-two thousand.”
My mouth went dry.
I almost whispered the number.
“Fifty-two thousand dollars.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I told you.”
“No. Clothes and dinners did not cost fifty-two thousand dollars.”
“I paid Marcus.”
“That was seventy-five hundred.”
“I paid cards.”
“With money borrowed from other cards?”
She started breathing faster.
“Where is the money?”
“I can fix it.”
“Where?”
“Daniel.”
I slammed my palm against the table.
“WHERE IS IT?”
Rachel screamed back.
“I gave it to Jason!”
I froze.
Her brother.
Jason.
The one person in Rachel’s family who had always seemed responsible.
Married.
Two children.
A successful construction company.
At least that was what everyone believed.
“How much?”
“Most of it.”
“Why?”
She covered her face.
“Because he was in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
May you like
Rachel began sobbing.
“The kind that could put him in prison.”
