Chapter 5 - The Ticking Clock
Once the door slammed shut behind my mother and sister, the house fell into an uneasy quiet. Mark remained standing at the end of the hallway, watching me like a man waiting for a bomb to detonate.
"Hannah—" he started.
"Don't speak to me," I said. I walked past him, went straight into the master bedroom, and pulled out two large suitcases from the closet.
"What are you doing?" Mark followed me into the room, his voice rising in panic. "Where are you going?"
"I'm not going anywhere," I said, throwing the suitcases onto the bed and unzipping them. "You are."
"Hannah, come on! Be reasonable! I didn't cheat on you!"
"You betrayed me!" I spun around, pointing a finger directly at his chest. "You lied to my face every single day for two months! You used our financial assets to cover up an affair for the man who was screwing my sister! You prioritized your business partnership over my sanity! Pack your clothes and get out of my house before I call the police and have you removed for domestic disturbance."
"This is my house too!"
"The deed is in my name, purchased with my inheritance from my grandmother before we were married," I shot back smoothly. "You have no legal right to stay here if I demand you leave. Do you want me to call my lawyer right now, or do you want to pack your bags like a man?"
Mark stared at me. For six years of marriage, he had managed me. He had used his charm, his smooth corporate negotiating tactics, and my gentle nature to steer our relationship whenever conflicts arose. He had never seen this version of me—cold, precise, and entirely unshakeable.
Recognizing he had lost the upper hand, he swallowed hard, threw his hands in the air, and began pulling his suits from the closet. "Fine. I'll stay at a hotel for a couple of days until you cool down."
"Don't bother coming back when I 'cool down,'" I said, packing my briefcase. "Because I am never cooling down."
By noon, Mark was gone. The house belonged to me again, but it felt contaminated. Every corner of it was tainted by the ghost of their lies.
I sat down at my desk and pulled out my phone. I stared at Sarah's name in my contacts list. Sarah, my fiercely loyal friend who had spent hours holding my hair back when I was sick from IVF drugs, who had sent me care packages after every failed retrieval.
My hands shook. Telling her would destroy her marriage, tear her life apart, and spark a legal and financial war that would bankrupt Mark’s firm.
If I kept quiet, I was no better than Mark. I would be another accomplice in the network of lies surrounding her.
I pressed call.
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"Hannah?" Sarah's warm, cheerful voice came through the speaker. "Hey, babe! How did the test go yesterday? I was waiting for you to text me, but I didn't want to bug you if—"
"Sarah," I interrupted, my voice breaking for the first time all day. "I need you to come over right now. And don't tell David where you're going."
