On the way home, my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.
It was a photo. A familiar large hand rested possessively on a woman's belly. A red string—a blessing charm—was wrapped around their joined wrists.
Thomas had gone to a temple to pray for that specific charm after we lost our first baby. He had told me, *'As long as we keep this red string, our baby will find its way back to Mom and Dad.'*
Now, he had given our baby's blessing to another woman.
The audacity was breathtaking.
*[I'm pregnant with Thomas's child. Youth really does make conception easier than it is for an old hag like you.]*
*[You still don't know who I am, do you? You're just like your useless mother—superfluous. A waste of space.]*
*[So what if you're an A University professor? Thomas will handle everything for me. My dad will ensure he climbs another rung on the ladder.]*
*[Elise James, if I were as much of a failure as you, I'd kill myself.]*
The realization hit me like a physical blow.
Hazel Fox was my half-sister. My father's illegitimate daughter.
The mistress's child had returned to steal my husband.
Tremors racked my body, but then, a laugh tore from my throat. Loud. Manic.
*Perfect.*
Thomas Gilbert, you've touched the one person in this world I despise the most. You and she can go to hell together.
Suppressing the bile rising in my throat, I scrolled through Hazel's social media feed. I archived everything. Every post, every photo, every check-in was evidence of Thomas's infidelity.
The most recent post was a video captioned: *"The happiest day."*
Below it, a comment read: *"Happy wedding."*
Hazel had shamelessly replied: *"Thank you."*
And Thomas had liked the video.
I took screenshots of it all.
When I arrived home, I photographed the pile of luxury gift boxes stacked by the door.
In the living room, my mother-in-law flicked an apple core onto the floor, waiting for me to clean it up.
"Why are you back so late?" she snapped. "Hurry up and make dinner. You upset my son and drove him away, and I haven't even punished you for it yet!"
In the past, I swallowed my pride for Thomas's sake. Now that I was discarding the son, the mother meant nothing to me.
"If you want to eat, cook it yourself."
I walked past her and bolted my bedroom door. Ignoring Mrs. Gilbert's shrieks and curses from the hallway, I focused entirely on compiling the evidence into a PDF.