Chapter 2
Cole refused to hand me the phone.
That told me more than any confession.
I stood in our kitchen with my hand extended while he held the device against his palm.
“Give it to me.”
“Hannah, we need to calm down.”
“No.”
“You’re pregnant.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Interesting time to remember.”
Darla whispered:
“Please don’t upset yourself.”
I turned toward her.
“You don’t get to worry about my blood pressure after kissing my husband.”
She lowered her eyes.
I looked back at Cole.
“The phone.”
He shook his head.
“There are private conversations.”
“With my mother?”
“Yes.”
“About me?”
Some silence.
“Yes.”
“Then they stopped being private.”
He rubbed his jaw.
I knew that gesture.
He did it when cornered.
I had watched him do it during negotiations, arguments, even when talking to his father.
It meant he was buying time.
I stopped helping him.
“Fine.”
I picked up my own phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“A lawyer.”
His face changed immediately.
“Hannah.”
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You weren’t this scared when I caught you kissing my mother.”
He stepped toward me.
“But the word lawyer scares you.”
Darla stood again.
“This is getting out of hand.”
I stared at her.
“It got out of hand inside my pantry.”
She flinched.
I called my friend and attorney, Rebecca Miles.
She answered immediately.
“Hey, mama. How was the shower?”
I almost broke.
“Not good.”
Her tone changed.
“What happened?”
I looked at Cole.
“He’s been having some kind of affair with my mother.”
Silence.
Then:
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need me there?”
“Yes.”
“I’m coming.”
Cole started pacing.
“You’re blowing this up.”
I stared at him.
“My husband kissing my mother at my baby shower is already pretty large.”
“We can handle this privately.”
“Why?”
“For the baby.”
That sentence made me furious.
“No.”
He stopped.
“You do not get to use our daughter as a shield.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
I put both hands over my stomach.
“She is exactly why I will not teach myself to tolerate this.”
Darla started crying again.
“I never wanted to hurt the baby.”
I stared at her.
“You keep talking like the baby is separate from me.”
She looked confused.
“She isn’t.”
I pointed at my chest.
“You hurt her mother.”
Darla sank back into the chair.
Rebecca arrived twenty minutes later.
She took one look at my face and hugged me.
I cried for exactly ten seconds.
Then I pulled away.
“I need facts.”
Rebecca nodded.
She looked at Cole.
“I assume you know who I am.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He crossed his arms.
“This is a marital issue.”
Rebecca smiled without warmth.
“Hannah asked me here as her attorney and friend. You don’t get to define the room.”
I almost loved her enough to cry again.
She asked whether we had joint accounts.
Yes.
Mortgage.
Joint.
Retirement accounts.
Separate.
House title.
Both names.
Business interests.
Cole owned a remodeling company.
I worked as a senior project manager for an architecture firm.
Then Rebecca asked:
“Prenup?”
“No.”
Cole finally spoke.
“Why are we discussing divorce?”
I looked at him.
“Because you kissed my mother.”
“That doesn’t automatically mean divorce.”
“It does to me.”
His face went blank.
Darla gasped.
“Hannah.”
I ignored her.
Cole stared.
“You’re ending our marriage over three kisses?”
I felt something cold move through me.
Not three kisses.
Months of lying.
Secrets.
Choosing my mother as his emotional confidante.
Humiliating me in my own home.
And whatever was still on that phone.
I said:
“I’m ending my marriage because I no longer know who I married.”
His jaw tightened.
“You’re emotional.”
Rebecca spoke before I could.
“Careful.”
Cole looked at her.
“She is emotional.”
“She is allowed to be.”
“She’s twenty-six weeks pregnant.”
I corrected him automatically.
“Twenty-seven.”
He stared.
That tiny mistake hurt more than it should have.
He forgot how far along I was.
My mother knew.
She had texted me that morning:
Twenty-seven weeks! My granddaughter is getting big!
Then she kissed my husband.
Rebecca asked:
“Cole, is there a reason Hannah should protect assets tonight?”
His face changed.
“What?”
“Any unusual transfers?”
“No.”
“Large withdrawals?”
“No.”
“Debt she doesn’t know about?”
“No.”
I watched him.
He looked away on the third answer.
Rebecca noticed too.
“What debt?”
“Nothing.”
“What debt, Cole?”
He became defensive.
“My company has a business line.”
“How much?”
“That isn’t Hannah’s concern.”
“It is if personal marital assets secured it.”
He didn’t answer.
My stomach tightened.
“Did you use our house?”
“Hannah.”
“Did you?”
“It was temporary.”
The betrayal widened again.
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
I stared at him.
“We owe four hundred thousand on this house.”
“The company needed cash.”
“You never told me.”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
No answer.
Rebecca asked:
“Did Hannah sign?”
Cole hesitated.
My blood went cold.
“Did I sign?”
He looked at the floor.
“No.”
Rebecca’s voice sharpened.
“How was the home pledged without her?”
“It wasn’t exactly the house.”
“Then what?”
“My equity interest.”
She frowned.
“That may still require disclosure depending on the loan documents.”
Cole snapped:
“It was legal.”
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Then Rebecca asked the question I hadn’t considered.
“Who arranged the financing?”
Cole looked toward Darla.
My mother became pale.
I stared between them.
“No.”
Darla whispered:
“Hannah.”
“What did you do?”
“I introduced him to someone.”
“Who?”
“A friend.”
“What friend?”
She closed her eyes.
“Mitchell Grant.”
I knew that name.
Darla’s ex-boyfriend.
A private lender.
A man I had hated since I was seventeen.
Mitchell had once convinced my mother to invest almost all of her savings in a failed restaurant.
She spent years recovering.
“You connected my husband to Mitchell?”
“He needed help.”
I almost laughed.
“You keep helping my husband in ways nobody asked you to.”
Cole said:
“It was business.”
“Was the kissing business too?”
He fell silent.
Rebecca looked at me.
“Anything else you should know?”
I thought.
Then remembered Cole’s phone.
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“We still haven’t seen the messages.”
Rebecca said:
“Hannah cannot force you to surrender your phone without legal process.”
Cole looked relieved.
Then she continued:
“But she can preserve evidence.”
His relief vanished.
“What does that mean?”
“It means if divorce proceedings begin and relevant communications disappear, that becomes very interesting.”
Cole stared.
Darla suddenly stood.
“I’m leaving.”
This time I let her.
At the door, she looked back.
“Hannah, I love you.”
I said nothing.
She left crying.
Cole remained.
Rebecca told him I needed space.
He refused at first.
“It’s my house.”
I looked at him.
“Then I’ll leave.”
“No.”
His answer came too quickly.
I stared.
“Why not?”
His face tightened.
“Because you’re pregnant.”
Again.
The baby as chain.
“I’m staying with Emma.”
“No.”
Rebecca stepped between us verbally.
“She can go wherever she chooses.”
Cole rubbed his face.
“Hannah, please.”
I went upstairs.
I packed clothes.
Medication.
Prenatal vitamins.
Laptop.
A few baby things for reasons I couldn’t explain.
Then I entered our bedroom.
Cole’s phone charger sat beside the bed.
Next to it was another phone.
Black.
Smaller.
I had never seen it.
I picked it up.
No passcode.
The screen opened.
One contact dominated the messages.
D.
Darla.
My mother.
Hundreds of messages.
Not weeks.
Months.
The first dated back almost seven months.
Before I was pregnant.
My hands shook.
I opened the thread.
Darla:
She never appreciates how hard you work.
Cole:
Sometimes I think you understand me better than she does.
Darla:
I shouldn’t.
Cole:
But you do.
Then another.
Cole:
I wish Hannah had your softness.
My vision blurred.
Further down:
Darla:
We have to stop.
Cole:
You said that last time.
Darla:
She’s my daughter.
Cole:
And I’m miserable.
Then, from five months ago:
Cole:
If the baby changes nothing, I’m leaving after she gives birth.
My knees nearly gave out.
But the next message was worse.
Darla:
Then wait until the paternity issue is settled.
I stopped breathing.
Paternity issue?
I stared at the words.
There was no paternity issue.
Cole was my baby’s father.
At least there shouldn’t have been.
I scrolled.
Cole:
You really think Hannah doesn’t know?
Darla:
She knows nothing about what happened before the wedding.
My heart began pounding.
Before what wedding?
My wedding?
Then I found a photograph.
My mother.
Cole.
And another man.
Taken eight years earlier.
Two years before I married Cole.
The third man was Mitchell Grant.
Behind them was a sign:
NORTHSTAR FERTILITY CLINIC.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
My mother had never told me she knew Cole before I introduced them.
And whatever secret they were hiding had begun years before our marriage.
