Two days later, Ethan decided to confirm it himself. He drove to the address connected to the charges and waited. Within an hour, Vanessa’s car arrived. She stepped out, unlocked the door with her own key, and walked inside like she belonged there. From inside, he could hear laughter—a man’s voice and a child’s.
Ethan didn’t move. He didn’t confront her. He simply started the car and drove home. Now he knew.
He prepared carefully. He hired a family lawyer, gathered every receipt, every screenshot, printed everything, and placed it all in a folder along with Lily’s drawing.
That Friday night, everything seemed normal. Vanessa was making dinner, smiling at her phone. Ethan went to Lily’s room, put on her favorite movie, kissed her forehead, and closed the door. She didn’t need to witness what was coming.
He walked into the dining room, turned on the light, and dropped the folder on the table. Papers spread everywhere. Vanessa froze.
“Were you spying on me?” she snapped.
“Sit down,” Ethan said calmly, his voice cold enough to silence her. “Don’t pretend you’re the victim. I know everything. About Ryan. About his house. About those two weeks.”
Vanessa didn’t cry. Her expression hardened.