Chapter 3
I listened to Sloan's conversation until she hung up.
She was talking to a man named Marcus.
Her real lover.
They'd been planning this for over a year.
Long before she'd married Harrison.
Long before they'd moved into my house.
She'd targeted my son.
Because of me.
Because of the house.
Because of the money.
Everything had been a lie.
The marriage.
The love.
The need for a temporary place to stay.
All of it.
I went back to my bedroom.
I locked the door.
I listened to the recording again.
Her voice was clear.
Cold.
Calculating.
*Harrison is just a means to an end.*
Those words would destroy my son.
But they would also save him.
If he believed them.
The next morning, I called Harrison into the kitchen.
Sloan was still upstairs.
Sleeping.
Or pretending to.
"I need to talk to you," I said.
Harrison sat down across from me.
He looked tired.
Defeated.
"Mom, about yesterday—"
"Listen to this," I said.
I pressed play on my phone.
Sloan's voice filled the room.
*"…Harrison is just a means to an end. You're the one I want. And once we have Lorraine's money, we can start over. Somewhere far away. No one will ever find us."*
I watched Harrison's face.
First confusion.
Then disbelief.
Then pain.
Then rage.
He stood up so fast his chair fell over.
"She's… she's been…"
"Using you," I said. "From the beginning. She never loved you, Harrison. She married you for the house. For the money. For everything she thought she'd get when I died. And she has a lover. Someone named Marcus. They've been planning this together."
Harrison was shaking.
"I don't… I don't believe you."
"Listen to the rest," I said.
I played the whole conversation.
Every word.
Every plan.
Every insult.
When it was over, Harrison was white.
He looked like he might throw up.
"I have to talk to her," he said.
"Be careful," I said. "She's dangerous, Harrison. She's not who you think she is."
He ran up the stairs.
I heard him burst into their bedroom.
I heard shouting.
Sloan's voice.
First defensive.
Then angry.
Then screaming.
Then I heard a slap.
And then silence.
A few minutes later, Harrison came back down.
His face was red.
There was a mark on his cheek.
He looked like he'd aged ten years.
"She admitted it," he said. His voice was broken. "Everything. The affair. The plan. The money. She said I was weak. That I was easy to manipulate. That any man would have done."
He sat down.
He put his head in his hands.
And he cried.
I sat down beside him.
I put my arm around him.
My son.
The little boy I'd raised.
The man who'd been broken by a woman who didn't deserve him.
"I'm so sorry, Mom," he said. "I'm so sorry for everything. For letting her treat you that way. For not standing up for you. For being so stupid."
"You weren't stupid," I said. "You were in love. And she's very good at what she does."
"I hate her," he said.
"I know."
We sat there for a long time.
Holding each other.
Healing.
And then Sloan came down the stairs.
She was carrying a suitcase.
Her face was cold.
Empty.
"I'm leaving," she said. "But this isn't over. You think you've won? You think recording my private conversations proves anything? It's inadmissible. And I'm still Harrison's wife. I'm still entitled to half of everything. Including this house. Including your money. You haven't seen the last of me, Lorraine."
She walked to the door.
She stopped.
She looked at Harrison.
"For what it's worth," she said. "You really were easy to manipulate."
And she walked out.
Harrison didn't move.
He just sat there.
Staring at the floor.
I held him tighter.
"It's over," I said. "She's gone."
But I knew it wasn't really over.
Sloan wouldn't give up that easily.
She was too greedy.
Too angry.
Too dangerous.
And she was right about one thing.
She was still Harrison's wife.
She was still entitled to half of everything he owned.
And she would fight for it.
Hard.
I called David immediately.
I told him what had happened.
About the affair.
About the recording.
About Sloan leaving.
"Good," David said. "This changes everything. If we can prove she committed fraud in the marriage—if she married Harrison solely for financial gain—we can have the marriage annulled. She'd get nothing. And we can use the recording as evidence of her intent."
"Can we do that?" I asked.
"We can try," he said. "It won't be easy. But with the recording, and with Harrison's testimony, we have a good chance."
Harrison looked up when I hung up.
"I'll do it," he said. "I'll testify. I'll do whatever it takes. I want her gone. I want this over."
I nodded.
"Okay."
That afternoon, Harrison started packing Sloan's things.
All of them.
Her clothes.
Her shoes.
Her jewelry.
Everything she'd left behind.
He put it all in boxes.
He stacked them by the front door.
And then he called her.
"Come get your things," he said. "Or I'm donating them to Goodwill. And don't ever come back to this house. Don't call me. Don't text me. Don't try to contact me in any way. My lawyer will be in touch."
He hung up.
He looked at me.
And for the first time in almost a year, I saw my son again.
Not Sloan's husband.
Harrison.
My boy.
"Thank you, Mom," he said. "For not giving up on me."
"I'll never give up on you," I said.
We hugged.
And for the first time in a long time, everything felt like it might be okay.
But that evening, as we were eating dinner, there was a knock at the door.
It was a process server.
He handed Harrison an envelope.
"Sloan Caldwell has filed for divorce," he said. "And she's requesting spousal support. And half of all marital assets. Including the house."
Harrison stared at the envelope.
May you like
And I knew.
The real fight was just beginning.
