Out making deliveries in a hundred-and-two-degree heat wave, I walked into a dumpling diner and ran straight into my husband, Burton Farley.

When he'd left the house that morning to drive for Uber, he'd been in a T-shirt washed thin and pale. Now he sat there in a sharp suit, dripping money.

The dumplings came out, and he gently warned the woman beside him to be careful, they were hot. He picked up his chopsticks and fed a little girl, smiling as he chatted with the owner.

"My wife's pregnant and she's been off her food. We've got a housekeeper who tries every recipe in the book, but the only thing she wants is your dumplings."

The owner cheerfully told them to come back anytime, then turned and saw me standing in the doorway and pointed at the counter.

"Your delivery order's over there!"

I didn't hear him. I walked straight toward Burton.

He had an expensive watch on his wrist. The woman beside him had that polished, well-bred look, a designer bag worth six figures tossed carelessly on her chair.

Even the clip in the little girl's hair was a luxury label.

Any one of those things could have made our lives a little easier.

Sweat stung my eyes until they ached.

Burton finally sensed something was wrong, and the moment he looked up and saw it was me, his face froze.

"Laurel Abbott, you—"

I cut him off. I tried to force a smile, but the tears fell anyway, out of my control.

"Burton, faking bankruptcy to lie to me and your son. Was it really that much fun?"

…

The color drained from his face.

The woman beside him looked over at me too, and I recognized her almost instantly. She was his old secretary, Gabriella Fox.

The little girl, five or six years old, had a face that looked exactly like Burton's.

Burton came to his senses, jumped up in a panic, and started pushing me toward the door.

"Sweetheart, go home first. I'll come back tonight and explain everything to you."

He planted himself in front of me, doing everything he could to block my view.

I shoved him hard, and the words tore out of me with a hatred I didn't even know I'd been holding.

"Explain what? Explain why you had a child with another woman and hid it from me and your son, while I stayed by your side like an idiot living a hard life with you?"

"Burton, what gives you the right to do this to us!"

I stared at the man in front of me, the tears streaming down, a sharp pain splitting my chest.

Four years ago, Burton's company failed to secure funding and ended up buried in debt.

We moved into the run-down outskirts of town with our two-year-old son and started working day and night to pay it off.

To make money, I worked myself to the bone, and I aged fast.

Our son was so good. He never threw tantrums or cried for things. He even learned to collect bottles and cardboard to sell.

Burton looked exhausted and heartbroken, swearing he'd work hard to give us a good life again.

But it never once crossed my mind that the whole bankruptcy, from start to finish, was nothing but a lie.

It was midafternoon, and there were no other customers in the diner.

I was crying and screaming like a madwoman, and the whole scene seized up into something unbearable.

The wind chime at the door rang, and my six-year-old son came running inside.

"Mom, why don't you have the food yet? We have to hurry!"

When he saw Burton was there too, he stopped short, and without thinking, held up the soda he'd been cradling to show him.

"Dad, I saved a drink for you!"

My eyes stung.

It was an ice-cold soda a customer had handed him while he was out doing deliveries with me.

He'd thanked the customer, so happy, and told me to take a sip first to cool off. He hadn't let himself touch it, just tucked it away like a treasure and grinned sweetly at me.

"Dad works hard too. Let's save some for him."

Burton stood frozen where he was, guilt and something moved surfacing in his eyes.

The son in front of him was dressed in shabby clothes, thin and small from never having enough to eat.

And the little girl sitting safe and settled beside the woman had soft, fair skin, dressed up like a delicate doll.

The contrast was almost too much to watch.

Burton reached out to take his son, but Noah darted behind me in a flash, peeking out at this stranger of a father.

I didn't cry or make a scene anymore. I wiped the sweat and tears off my face with the back of my hand, took my son's small hand in mine, and walked out without looking back.

Outside, the heat rolled over us in waves, the pavement baked pale under the sun.

I canceled the rest of my delivery orders on my phone, fastened Noah's helmet, and rode him home without a word.

He held onto my waist, and his little voice came from behind me.

"Mommy, do we not have to deliver food anymore?"

It felt like a thousand fine needles were rolling over my heart, and I fought down the sting in my nose.

"Mm. It's too hot. We'll take a day off."

He nodded like he understood something, and didn't ask anything else.

On the way back, I used what little I had left to buy a roast chicken, and got Noah the ice cream he'd been wanting for so long.

Once we were home, I dug out the dusty remote and turned on the AC without a second thought.

Noah watched me carefully.

"Mommy, did we spend too much money today?"

A bitterness welled up in me, and I forced a gentle smile for him.

"It's okay."

To save money, the three of us had scraped by on next to nothing. Even a meal with meat was a luxury.

In the worst of summer we wouldn't even run the fan. On nights too hot to sleep, the three of us spread a straw mat on the floor and fanned ourselves with scraps of cardboard.

And even then, that staggering debt was like a bottomless black hole that nothing could ever fill.

Every so often a creditor would show up with red paint, and every few days there'd be another scene.

Burton really was a master director. He'd staged the whole bankruptcy without a single seam showing.

The old AC pushed out a slow, cool breeze, and little by little my heart settled.

After dinner, Noah played quietly with the toy car he'd found.

My phone buzzed. Burton had wired me a large sum of money, then sent a string of messages.

【Honey, the company really didn't go bankrupt. I can explain all of this.】

【You made too big a scene just now. Gabriella's pregnancy is at risk, so I'm taking her to the hospital to get checked first.】

【I'll send someone tonight to pick you and our son up. I'll do everything I can to make it up to you both from now on.】

I let out a scornful laugh and accepted the transfer without the slightest hesitation.

Then I turned around and went online to contact the best divorce lawyer in the city.

We used to believe in Burton completely, willing to suffer through hard days at his side.

But now, I would never pin a single hope on him again.

Time slipped by fast, and the night deepened.

A polite knock came at the door. The young man outside kept his head bowed respectfully.

"Ma'am, Mr. Farley sent me to pick you and the young master up."

I didn't say much, just followed him out smartly, holding Noah, and got in the car.

The car drove straight to our old home.

When I walked into the living room, Burton and Gabriella were sitting on the sofa, patiently reading a picture book with their daughter.

The moment Burton saw us, his face lit up and he stood.

"Laurel, you're here."

He turned and told the nanny to take the girl for a bath and to bed, but the little girl refused to let go of his hand, shrieking.

"Daddy, why are they in our house? I don't like them. Make them leave!"

At her words, Noah gripped my hand tighter and pulled in on himself even more.

Burton went a little stiff. Gabriella smiled, soft and sweet.

"Felicia, be good, go to sleep."

She glanced at me as if by accident, her hand resting on her swollen belly, her eyes bright with open provocation.

The little girl glared at us, indignant, then turned and ran off to the nanny.

I stared at Burton, my mouth twisting.

"I thought you weren't bankrupt. So how are you so broke now that you can't even set them up in a place of their own? You have to move them in here, like a cuckoo squatting in another bird's nest."

His face soured, but he reined in his temper and tried to soothe me.

"Laurel, Gabriella and the others have lived here four years. They're settled. Don't make a scene over nothing."

I let out a thin laugh, and something in my chest twisted sharp.

Four years.

The moment Burton faked the bankruptcy and moved us out, he'd moved Gabriella and her daughter in.

He'd told me this place had been sold.

So it turned out it had only become a little nest for him and someone else.

I had nothing more to waste on either of them. I walked straight up to Burton and slapped a divorce agreement down in front of him.

"Sign it. I keep custody of our son, and we split the marital assets down the middle."

He frowned at the papers. When he looked up again, he rubbed at the space between his brows like a tired man.

"Laurel, do you really have to carry on like this?"

"Back then, I had my reasons. Felicia was diagnosed with a heart condition the moment she was born, and at the same time you were forever picking fights with me, using our son to chain me to your side."

"You had nothing to do all day except watch me like a hawk, all nerves, never letting go. If I hadn't pretended to go bankrupt, how would you ever have given me any freedom?"

"Felicia was little. Gabriella was still being harassed by her ex-husband from time to time. They needed me."

"You're a mother too. You have a child too. Can't you find it in you to understand me, just a little?"

Burton's lofty reasons and his accusations were like two great hands, tearing my heart to shreds.

Gabriella smoothed back her hair and smiled as she coaxed me.

"Laurel, Burton loves all of you too. From now on you'll never want for anything. You stay on as Mrs. Farley. It doesn't matter if my daughter and I have to put up with a little hardship—just don't make things difficult for him."

He looked at her with a tenderness I knew, and right in front of me and our son, he laced his fingers through hers.

I clenched my jaw, my nails biting deep into my palms.

Less than a year after I gave birth to our son, I found a torn pair of stockings in Burton's pocket.

On his computer, in a chat window he'd forgotten to close, were screen after screen of sweet nothings between him and Gabriella.

I was already being torn apart by postpartum depression, and whatever sense I had left snapped. I went straight to his company and, in front of everyone, slapped him across the face, crying.

"Burton, Gabriella is five years older than you. She has a husband. And you go chasing after her, the other man wrecking someone else's family? Your son isn't even a year old. Have you no shame at all?"

His face went dark, but he didn't argue back. He forced me home.

That night he fired Gabriella, knelt in front of me, and swore on everything that he would never see her again.

After that I kept him on a short leash. He had to come straight home after work, I went through his phone every day, and every call he got, I had to know who it was from.

Burton grew more and more silent, but he submitted meekly to all of it.

Until a year later, when an investment failed, the company went bankrupt, and he was buried in debt.

I poured everything I had into earning money, trying to help Burton through the crisis, and I no longer had the energy to keep watch over him and Gabriella.

But all of it had only ever been a play he'd staged.

I looked at the easy calm on his face, shut my eyes hard, and let it go. I didn't want to dig into any of it anymore.

"Fine. We divorce, then. I won't make things difficult for you."

After our son was born, I'd been tangled up in those dark postpartum moods—impulsive, quick to anger, gripped by a possessiveness over Burton that bordered on obsession.

But after these four years of wear, facing betrayal again, I found I actually had the courage to walk away.

Our son had been standing quietly beside me the whole time, and his small, warm hand made me feel steady.