Chapter 2 - The Second Address
The Arbors on Elm wasn't a luxury high-rise, nor was it a sleek downtown loft. It was a quiet, unassuming brick mid-rise complex built in the late nineties, tucked away behind a row of mature oak trees that dropped damp autumn leaves onto the asphalt. It looked like the kind of place rented by college professors or quiet retirees—not a man who flew to Maui first class while his mother died in a charity ward.
I parked my sedan three spaces down from the main entrance, keeping my hands steady on the steering wheel. The digital clock on the dashboard read 2:14 PM. Julian’s flight back from Hawaii wasn't scheduled to land until late tonight, which meant I had a window.
I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes were ringed with exhaustion, my hair pulled back into a severe, no-nonsense knot. I looked like a woman who had spent twenty years keeping the peace, only to find out the peace was a lie.
I stepped out of the car, the crisp October air biting at my cheeks, and walked toward the glass doors of the building. The lobby was dim, smelling faintly of old carpet and floor wax. I checked the directory board near the mailboxes. Unit 4B — J. Vance / C. Vance.
J and C. Julian and Chloe.
My stomach gave a sharp, nauseating twist, but I forced my feet to keep moving. I took the elevator to the fourth floor, the mechanical hum of the cables vibrating through the floorboards. When the doors slid open, the fourth-floor hallway was quiet, lined with identical dark wood doors.
I walked down to the end of the hall, stopping directly in front of Unit 4B. A brass knocker shaped like a lion's head gleamed in the overhead fluorescent light.
I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out the key Julian’s secret ledger had led me to—the spare key I had found in his desk drawer—and slid it into the lock. It turned with a smooth, expensive click.
The door swung open, and I stepped inside.
The apartment smelled expensive—a mix of high-end sandalwood candle wax and fresh linen. It was furnished in minimalist neutrals, nothing like the cozy, cluttered warmth of our family home. But what stopped me dead in my tracks wasn't the decor. It was the framed photographs hanging neatly along the hallway wall.
They weren't pictures of Julian and Chloe on a beach in Maui. They were pictures of Julian, Chloe, and a smiling four-year-old boy with dark curls and Julian’s exact, distinct jawline.
I walked down the hall like a sleepwalker, my hand trailing against the cool drywall, staring at the timeline of a family I had never been invited to join. There was a birthday party photo dated three years ago. There was a Christmas morning photo from four years ago.
Julian had told me he was flying to Chicago for a regional conference that weekend. Instead, he had been opening presents with a second family just ten minutes from our grocery store.
A sudden clatter from the kitchen made me freeze.
"Babe, did you forget the almond milk again?" a bright, musical voice called out from around the corner.
Footsteps padded lightly across the hardwood floor. A moment later, Chloe stepped into the hallway, holding a wooden spatula, wearing an oversized silk bathrobe that looked uncomfortably familiar. It was identical to the one I had given Julian for our tenth anniversary, right down to the navy piping.
She stopped dead when she saw me standing by the framed photographs. The color drained completely from her face, the spatula slipping from her fingers to clatter against the floorboards.
"Who... who are you?" Chloe whispered, her eyes darting from my face to the wedding ring still gleaming on my left hand.
May you like
"I'm the woman who paid for his dental insurance for the last ten years," I said, my voice sounding terrifyingly calm, even to my own ears. "Who are you?"
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