Part 2

“Girl, I was about to put your face on a missing poster. Where have you been?”

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, staring out at the endless rows of parked cars shimmering under the late morning heat. For a second, my voice wouldn’t come out.

Then it did.

And once it started, it didn’t stop.

I told her everything.

Not just the Bali trip. Not just Vanessa.

Everything.

The messages. The insults. The way Trevor had turned our marriage into a performance—one where I was the joke and he was waiting for applause.

Relle didn’t interrupt. Not once.

When I finished, there was a long silence on the line.

Then she said, very quietly, “You ready to burn his world down?”

I closed my eyes.

“No,” I said. “I’m ready to walk out of it.”

Another pause.

Then, softer this time, “Okay. Then we do it clean. Smart. No drama. No warning.”

No warning.

The words settled into my bones like something solid.

“First,” Relle said, shifting into that sharp, strategic tone I hadn’t heard in years, “you need proof. Screenshot everything. Back it up somewhere he can’t touch.”

“Already started.”

“Good. Second, you need a lawyer who doesn’t play nice.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Third…” she hesitated, then added, “you need to decide what you want him to lose.”

I looked down at my hands.

They weren’t shaking anymore.

“Everything,” I said.

The next ten days passed like a quiet storm.

On the surface, nothing changed.

I packed Trevor’s suitcase.

I kissed him goodbye at the door.

I stood on the porch with Bailey as we waved while his car disappeared down the street.

“Daddy’s going to Singapore,” Bailey said brightly.

I smiled.

“Yes, baby. Singapore.”

And then I went inside and dismantled our life piece by piece.

The lawyer’s office smelled like leather and polished wood.

Her name was
Evelyn Cross
, and she didn’t waste time with sympathy.

“Do you want to save your marriage,” she asked, flipping through the printed screenshots I had laid out like evidence in a trial, “or do you want to win your divorce?”

The question hit harder than anything Trevor had said.

I thought about the messages again.

She’s gotten boring.

Maybe jealousy will wake her up.

I met her eyes.

“I want him to understand exactly what he lost,” I said.

She nodded once.

“Then we do this precisely. You don’t confront him. You don’t tip him off. You let him take that trip.”

I frowned. “Why?”

Her lips curved slightly.

“Because nothing destroys a man like confidence right before the fall.”

By day three, I had copies of everything.

By day four, I had moved my mother’s money into a separate account under my name only.

By day five, I had signed papers I never thought I would sign.

Divorce filings. Custody arrangements. Asset protection.

By day six, I had something else.

Something I hadn’t expected.

It came from Vanessa.

Not to Trevor.

To me.

A message request on Facebook.

My finger hovered over the screen for a long time before I opened it.

Vanessa:
I think we need to talk.

My heart didn’t race.

It didn’t break.

It didn’t do anything dramatic.

It just… slowed.

I typed back.

Naomi:
We do.

We met at a quiet café on the edge of town.

She was already there when I walked in.

And for a moment, I just stood there.

Because she didn’t look like I expected.

No arrogance. No smug satisfaction.

She looked nervous.

She stood when she saw me.

“Naomi.”

“Vanessa.”

We sat across from each other like strangers negotiating something fragile.

She didn’t waste time either.

“I didn’t know,” she said immediately.

I blinked.

“Didn’t know what?”

Her hands twisted together.

“I didn’t know he was still with you.”

I stared at her.

“You’re kidding.”

“I swear,” she said quickly. “He told me you were separated. That you were… basically over. Just living in the same house for Bailey.”