Chapter 3
I approached his bed.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
His eyes widened.
“How did you know I was here?”
“The hospital called me.”
I pulled a chair closer.
“I’m your wife, remember?”
Behind me, Martha went pale.
George looked toward the door.
I pretended not to notice.
I adjusted Alistair’s pillow and asked about his injuries.
Then, as casually as possible, I said, “I saw a young woman leaving with a little boy. Are they family?”
Silence.
Alistair glanced toward his mother.
Martha answered immediately.
“A distant cousin. She heard about the accident and came to visit.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“That’s strange. The little boy called Alistair Daddy.”
Alistair closed his eyes.
“You’re confused, Jacqueline. You’ve had a terrible shock.”
I looked at the man I had shared my bed with for seven years.
The man who had promised to love me when our attempts to have children failed.
The man who had once held me while I cried over another unsuccessful fertility treatment.
And now he was telling me I hadn’t heard what I had clearly heard.
I smiled.
“Perhaps you’re right.”
I didn’t argue.
There was no point in confronting a liar before understanding the full extent of his lies.
I stayed another twenty minutes, kissed Alistair’s forehead, and told him I would return the next morning.
Then I went home.
The house was exactly as I had left it.
His jacket hung by the door.
Two coffee mugs sat beside the kitchen sink.
Our wedding photograph stood on the living room bookshelf.
I picked it up.
Alistair was smiling at me as though I were the most important person in his world.
I turned the photograph facedown.
Then I opened my laptop.
An email from the insurance company was waiting.
Because Alistair’s vehicle was registered as part of our marital assets, I had requested the accident file.
The documents included a backup from the car’s onboard camera.
I downloaded the recording.
It contained the final fifteen minutes before the crash.
At first, I heard ordinary traffic.
Then a woman’s voice.
“When the investment round closes, are you really going to put the apartment in my name?”
Alistair laughed.
“Of course, Paige. You and Matty are my real family.”
I froze.
Paige.
Matty.
Names I had never heard before that evening.
Then my husband continued.
“Jacqueline will never find out. As long as she keeps solving my problems and bringing in investors, I have everything under control.”
My hands began trembling.
For years, I had helped Alistair build his investment company.
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I had introduced him to clients, reviewed business agreements, and connected him with people who trusted my professional judgment.
I had believed we were building our future together.
