Chapter 3

One day before the storm.

Early in the morning, I made Lucas pancakes and fresh juice. Before heading out to his study hall, he turned to me at the door:

"Mom, did you sleep poorly again? You have dark circles."

"Just a weird dream. I'm fine."

After he left, I sat alone at the dining table.

Sean was still asleep. He never woke up early on weekends, claiming he was burnt out from work.

In reality, he was an administrative coordinator working nine-to-five with zero mandatory overtime—except for the past three months.

I pulled out my phone and reviewed the screenshots I took from his SnapChat.

The intern, "Zoe," was a twenty-three-year-old recent grad.

Judging by their chats, she was fully aware Sean was a married father. She had repeatedly tested the waters, asking, "Won't your wife find out?" Sean's reply had always been the same: "She's just a housewife. What could she possibly find out?"

I laid the phone face down on the table.

In my past life, those words suffocated me, making me question what I had done wrong.

Now, I had only one question: In a divorce court, would this be enough to strip him bare?

At ten in the morning, I left the house.

My destination wasn't the grocery store or a market, but the coffee shop right across from Sean's corporate office.

I picked a window seat and ordered an Americano.

I wasn't there to make a scene. I was there to observe.

Employees occasionally went in and out of the office tower on weekends.

I wasn't sure if he would fabricate an excuse to go out today, but if he did, he would almost certainly meet up with that girl.

At eleven-twenty, the revolving doors spun open.

Sean walked out wearing a light-blue polo shirt I had never seen before. Walking beside him was a girl with a neat ponytail and subtle makeup, holding an iced drink. She was laughing, brushing her shoulder against his arm with easy familiarity.

They didn't head toward the café, but walked straight into the adjacent shopping mall.

I raised my phone, zoomed in, and snapped seven or eight clear photos.

One shot was crystal clear: as Zoe tilted her head to speak to him, Sean reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

He used to do that when he was courting me.

Back then, I found it tender. Now, it just made my stomach turn.

I saved the photos, finished my coffee, and left.

When I got home that afternoon, Sean was still out. I took the opportunity to handle another critical task: locating the deed to our home.

We had bought this house after getting married. I provided thirty thousand dollars from my pre-marital savings for the down payment, and our joint account paid the monthly mortgage of sixteen hundred dollars.

Yet the deed only bore Sean's name.

He had claimed it made the paperwork simpler, and I had naively agreed.

It was the biggest mistake I ever made.

However, Attorney Vance had reassured me that under marital property laws, real estate acquired during the marriage is considered joint property regardless of whose name is on the title, and the division would factor in our respective contributions.

I photographed the down payment wire receipts, the bank statements showing mortgage deductions, and our renovation receipts.

Then, I found one more thing: the formal email where I declined the fellowship.

Three years ago, my department head had sent the official notification: Recommendation for Chloe to Attend the Advanced Clinical Pathology Fellowship. Attached was my reply: Due to family obligations, I am unable to accept. My deepest apologies.

Sean had sat right beside me when I drafted that email.

I took a screenshot and saved it to my encrypted drive alongside the director's recommendation letter.

Legally, they were supporting exhibits, but morally, they proved one indisputable fact:

Everything I sacrificed for this family, and how he repaid me.

At six in the evening, Sean walked through the door carrying a bakery box.

Unusually, he set it down gently on the dining table rather than tossing it aside, his attitude noticeably softer than yesterday.

"Passed by the bakery and picked this up. Share some with Lucas."

At dinner, he even served a piece of roasted chicken onto Lucas's plate, asking about his studies and muttering, "Proud of you, son. Keep it up."

Lucas's fork paused. He looked up at me with surprise, followed by a faint, long-suppressed glimmer of happiness.

I chewed silently, a pang shooting through my heart.

That cheap display of warmth was nothing but the crumbs of guilt he brought home after spending the day with another woman. And my son, starved of his father's attention, was grateful for the scraps.

I knew the exact mechanism behind his sudden kindness.

He had done the same thing in my past life. Whenever he indulged with Zoe, he would return home and act sweet to ease his conscience.

That guilt never lasted more than forty-eight hours.

Come Monday, he would be back to snapping, "Stop bothering me," before hanging up.

After washing the dishes, I stood by the kitchen window, watching the dark sky.

The clouds hung low, heavy with distant rolling thunder.

The weather forecast called for severe rainstorms tomorrow afternoon into the evening.

I took a deep breath.

Tomorrow was the reckoning.

At ten that night, I entered Lucas's bedroom.

He was leaning against his headboard going over his review notes. Seeing me come in, he brightened his desk lamp.

"Lucas, I'm picking you up after prep class tomorrow. What time do you wrap up?"

"Five-thirty. Mom, really, I can take the train."

"You wait for me," I said, my tone so grave that he looked startled.

"Sit in the lobby once you finish. Do not leave the building. Do not step outside, even if the rain looks light. Wait until I text you that I've pulled up."

He looked at me curiously, sensing my tension over the past couple of days, but nodded anyway.

"Okay, Mom. Whatever you say."

I reached out and gently ruffled his hair.

In my past life, I failed to protect him.

That runaway scooter in the storm had shattered his bright, carefree youth.

After his surgery, when he tried to take his first steps, his ankle gave out, and he gripped the hospital bed rail, biting his lip so hard it bled just to suppress the scream.

He never ran again.

Those images were scorched into my mind, indelible for eternity.

Returning to our bedroom, Sean had already fallen asleep, his phone resting face down beside his pillow.

I didn't touch it. I already had all the evidence I needed.

Lying in the dark, I reviewed tomorrow's plan three times.

Tomorrow afternoon, I had two missions:

First, bring Lucas home safely before the storm hit.

Second, tear down Sean's façade once and for all.