Chapter 2 - The Paper Trail
The tears didn't last long. Grief is a heavy, slow thing, but anger is sharp, and by six o'clock that evening, anger had taken over.
Ryan was outside packing the back of his SUV with baby gear. Every few minutes, he would glance through the kitchen window at me, his brow furrowed with performative concern. He still thought he was managing a emotional, "hormonal" wife who just needed to be calmed down with quiet words and fake affection.
He didn't know I had Kayla's messages saved to my cloud storage.
Diane stood by the stove, brewing a fresh pot of chamomile tea. Her hands were steady, but her jaw was set in an icy line. "He's going to come back inside in a minute," she said softly, not looking back at me. "He'll act like the supportive husband. He'll offer to drive you home, rub your feet, and tell you that Kayla is 'unstable'."
"How do you know that?" I asked, my voice raspy.
Diane turned around, leaning against the counter. "Because it's what his father used to do whenever he got caught stepping out of line. Ryan watched Richard do it for years. Richard would buy me flowers, blame his secretary's 'confusion,' and pretend I was crazy for noticing the perfume on his collar." She took a deep breath. "I stayed because I thought I had to. I won't watch you do the same thing."
The back door clicked open. Ryan walked in, wiping his hands on a napkin. He smiled, that easy, charismatic smile that had won me over eight years ago in a college coffee shop.
"All loaded up, babe," Ryan said, stepping toward me. "Your sister took the big crib box in her trunk. Why don't we get you home? You've been on your feet way too long today."
He reached out to touch my arm. I shifted my chair back, out of his reach.
His smile faltered slightly. "Hannah. Come on. Are we really still doing this?"
"Doing what, Ryan?"
"This cold shoulder routine," he said, turning to his mother for support. "Mom, tell her. She's stressing herself out over nothing. It's not good for the baby."
Diane didn't smile back. "Don't bring your daughter into this, Ryan. And don't look at me to fix this for you."
Ryan's eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means," I said, leaning forward and resting my forearms on the table, "that Kayla texted me ten minutes ago."
The color drained from Ryan's face so fast it was like watching paint dry. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. The effortless charm evaporated, replaced by a sudden, desperate panic.
"She... she's not in her right mind, Hannah," he stammered, taking a step back. "She's upset about her ex—"
"She sent me the screenshots, Ryan," I lied cleanly. I didn't have the screenshots yet, but I knew if I pushed, his own guilt would fill in the blanks. "She sent me the text messages from last month. The ones where you told her we were getting divorced after Ella was born."
Ryan froze. He looked at me, then at his mother. Neither of us offered him a lifeline.
"Hannah..." His voice dropped an octave, losing its confident edge. "It's not what you think. It was a mistake. She was pursuing me, and I didn't know how to handle it without hurting her feelings—"
"You told her I knew," I interrupted, my voice deadly quiet. "You told my best friend that our marriage was a business arrangement so she would sleep with you without feeling guilty."
"We didn't!" Ryan yelled, his voice cracking. "We didn't sleep together!"
"Yet," Diane added from the counter, her voice dropping like a gavel.
Ryan spun on his mother. "Stay out of this, Mom! This is between me and my wife!"
"In my kitchen?" Diane said, stepping closer. "Under my roof? While my grandchild is eight months along in her belly? No, Ryan. You made it my business the moment you brought that girl into my house on the day of her shower."
Ryan turned back to me, running a hand through his hair. He was sweating now. "Hannah, look at me. Please. I love you. I love Ella. I got overwhelmed, okay? The baby, the mortgage, the promotion at work—everything was piling up! Kayla was just... she was there, and she listened!"
"She was there because she was my friend!" I shouted, standing up so fast my chair scraped violently against the floorboards. "She was in my house! She helped me pick out Ella's nursery wallpaper! Did you talk about our divorce while you were helping her paint the trim?!"
Ryan reached for his keys on the counter. "I'm not doing this while you're hysterical. We'll talk at home."
"I'm not going home with you," I said.
He paused, his hand hovering over the key ring. "What?"
"I'm staying here tonight," I said, looking at Diane. She nodded immediately in agreement. "And tomorrow morning, I'm going to our bank on Grand Avenue."
May you like
Ryan's reaction to that statement wasn't anger. It was terror. His eyes darted to his phone, then back to me. "Why are you going to the bank?"
"Because if you've been lying to me about your loyalty," I said, a sudden terrible suspicion taking root in my mind, "I'm going to check what else you've been lying about."
