Chapter 3
I didn’t open the door for Daniel.
I leaned against the wall on the other side, listening to him yell, his words slurring together as he begged, then threatened, then begged again.
“I made a mistake, Ellie,” he screamed. “She means nothing. You’re the only one I love. Open the door, please.”
Then, when I still didn’t move: “If you don’t let me in, I’m taking the kids. You hear me? I’ll get full custody. You’ll never see them again.”
My blood turned to ice.
Jake was 9. Lily was 7.
They were at my mom’s for the weekend, thank God, safe from this.
I called the non-emergency police line, my voice steady as I reported a drunk, aggressive man refusing to leave my property.
Two squad cars pulled up ten minutes later.
I heard Daniel yell, then the sound of scuffling, then silence.
A cop knocked on the door a minute later, gentle, asking if I was okay.
I told him I wanted a trespass warning.
No contact.
No coming within 500 feet of me or the house.
He nodded, handed me the paperwork, and left.
Mia showed up five minutes after that, holding a bottle of my favorite red wine and a stack of my favorite chocolate chip cookies, her face tight with rage.
She didn’t say “I told you so.”
She never did.
She just pulled me into a hug, let me cry into her shoulder for ten minutes, then poured us both a glass of wine and said, “Okay. Let’s burn his life to the ground. Fair?”
I laughed through my tears, nodded.
We went up to the home office first.
Daniel had left his work laptop open on the desk, his email logged in, like he’d been in such a hurry to run that he’d forgotten to even close it.
Stupid.
Arrogant.
Typical.
We started with the bank accounts.
The kids’ college fund, the one we’d been putting $300 a month into since Jake was born, the one he’d said we were “protecting” by buying me a fake necklace?
$18,000 gone.
Siphoned out in $500 increments every month for the last three years, transferred to a bank account I’d never seen before.
Mia’s hand tightened around her wine glass so hard I thought it would break.
Then the loan.
A $20,000 personal loan, taken out six months ago, in my name.
Forged signature.
Forged pay stubs.
The money had been wired directly to a real estate office in Brooklyn—Lila’s office, a quick search confirmed.
He’d used my identity, my credit, our kids’ future, to fund his other life.
I collapsed into the desk chair, my legs giving out.
We’d worked so hard.
I’d quit my teaching job to stay home with the kids, taken side jobs tutoring at night to make extra cash, clipped coupons, bought secondhand clothes, all so we could build a life for our family.
And he’d thrown it all away on a lie.
Mia knelt in front of me, her hands on my knees, her eyes soft but fierce.
“We will get every cent back,” she said. “I know the best family lawyer in the state. She’s a shark. She’ll eat him alive. And we’ll press charges for the forgery. The theft. All of it. He will never hurt you or those kids again. I promise.”
I nodded, wiping my face, when my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered, ready to yell at Clara for not warning me sooner, but the voice on the other end was younger, softer, shaking.
“Is this Ellie?” the woman said.
May you like
“Yes.”
“This is Lila,” she said. “Daniel’s fiancée. Or… his ex, I guess. I just found out everything. We need to talk. Please.”
