“Not here?” I repeated, louder this time. A few people nearby turned their heads. “You brought what’s-his-name to an airport, Ethan. So, yeah, here goes.” The young woman looked as if she were fainting. She hooked her bag across her chest and took another step away from him. “You told me you were divorced,” she said, her voice trembling. “You said the paperwork was being finalized.” I laughed, but it came out loud and ugly. “Divorced? That’s interesting, because I was at home this morning packing up her favorite travel pillow.” Ethan dragged a hand across her face. “Claire, please. You’re making a scene.” “No,” I said. “You made a scene the second you decided to play the husband for me and the father-to-be for someone else.” The girl turned toward him so fast her ponytail whipped his shoulder. “Father-to-be?” That’s when I realized she didn’t know everything either.
I looked at her, then tucked her into her bag. “You really don’t know, do you?” She swallowed hard. “Know what?” “Before Ethan could stop me, I grabbed the paper that was sticking out of her purse. She pulled it too late. The top page was enough. I saw her name—Madison Reed. I saw his name—Ethan Cole. I saw the clinic letterhead and the words treatment plan, embryo transfer, and intended parents.” My hands started shaking. Madison covered her mouth. “Oh my God.” I looked at Ethan. “You used our joint savings.” He didn’t deny it. The answer was written all over his face, and suddenly, I was back in our kitchen six months earlier, when I’d asked why $30,000 had been moved from our account. He’d told me it was for a business investment. He kissed my forehead and told me not to worry. I remembered crying alone in our room after another failed conversation about why he kept delaying IVF for us, even though he knew how much I wanted it. All this time, he hadn't hesitated.
He'd just chosen someone else.
Madison's voice broke beside me. "You told me you were starting over. You said your marriage ended because she didn't want children." I closed my eyes for a terrible second. Then I looked at her again, really looked at her. She couldn't be more than 26. Stylish, edgy, mascara already smudged under her eyes. She no longer looked smug. She looked humiliated.
Ethan stepped toward us, lowering his voice. “You two need to calm down. We can talk in private.” I stepped away from him. “Don’t make yourself the center of attention like you’re running a meeting.” Madison’s eyes filled with tears. “Were you ever going to tell me the truth?” He didn’t say anything. That silence told us everything.
Then she picked up her purse, took out the ring he’d apparently given her, and dropped it into her palm.
“You used me,” she whispered.
I should have felt victorious. Instead, I just felt empty.
Ethan looked at me like he still expected me to save him somehow, like I had in every fight, every excuse, every mess. But this time, I didn’t. I pulled out my phone, opened our banking app, and said, “Before I get on a plane today, you’re going to transfer every single dollar you stole from me.” And when his expression hardened, I added the one sentence that finally made him panic.
“Because if you don’t, my next call is to my lawyer—and to the clinic.”
