Chapter 2 - The Cabin ReservationI sat in Hannah Brooks's law office with damp hair, a pounding headache, and sixteen years of marriage spread across her desk in the form of photographs.
Our wedding.
Sadie's first birthday.
Mike's fire academy graduation.
The Christmas we bought our house.
Every picture contained a smiling man I suddenly felt I had never known.
Hannah listened without interrupting.
When I finished describing Brittany's conversation at the salon, she removed her glasses.
"First, I need you to understand something," she said. "You do not have to make any major decisions today."
"I've already made one."
"What's that?"
"Nobody is introducing my daughter to that woman behind my back."
Hannah nodded.
"That's a reasonable boundary. But we need to handle everything carefully, especially if Mike is making plans involving your child and shared property."
I looked toward the window.
Outside, downtown Knoxville continued moving as though my world hadn't just fallen apart.
People walked their dogs.
Delivery trucks stopped at traffic lights.
A woman pushed a stroller past the building.
I wondered how many of them were carrying secrets.
"Sadie mentioned we're moving after Christmas," I said.
Hannah's expression changed.
"Moving where?"
"I have absolutely no idea."
"Has Mike been discussing selling your house?"
"No."
"Refinancing?"
"No."
"Any unusual spending? New credit cards? Missing statements?"
I opened my mouth.
Then stopped.
Two months earlier, Mike had insisted we switch our household bills to a new online account.
He'd said his firefighter union had arranged a better banking package.
I'd barely paid attention.
Rosie's had been preparing for its busiest holiday season, and I'd been working fourteen-hour days.
"The bank account," I whispered.
Hannah leaned forward.
"What about it?"
"He handles everything now."
"Do you still have access?"
"I think so."
"Let's find out."
I opened my banking application.
The familiar blue screen appeared.
Then a message flashed.
Your password has been changed.
I tried again.
Same result.
My stomach dropped.
"That's strange."
Hannah's voice became firm.
"Becca, when was the last time you reviewed your joint accounts?"
"August, maybe."
It was October.
She wrote something on a legal pad.
"Okay. We'll request records through the appropriate channels. For now, gather the financial documents you can lawfully access, and don't make changes out of anger."
I nodded.
Then my phone rang.
Mike.
His photograph appeared on the screen.
He was standing beside Sadie at Dollywood, both wearing ridiculous matching sunglasses.
I nearly threw the phone.
Hannah gestured toward it.
"You can answer. You don't have to reveal what you know."
I took a breath.
"Hello?"
"Hey, babe."
His voice was warm.
Familiar.
Horribly normal.
"How'd the hair turn out?"
"Fine."
"Just fine? I thought you were getting something fancy."
"I changed my mind."
He laughed.
"Well, you're beautiful either way."
I stared at Hannah.
She was watching my face.
"Where are you?" I asked.
"Station."
I could hear men talking in the background.
"Busy day?"
"Not too bad. We had a kitchen fire earlier. Everyone got out okay."
"That's good."
"Listen, I wanted to remind you about next weekend."
My pulse quickened.
"What about it?"
"The cabin trip."
"Right."
"Sadie's really excited. Just the two of us. I think it'll be good bonding time."
I closed my eyes.
Just the two of us.
The lie came so easily.
"Which cabin are you staying at?"
A pause.
"Why?"
"Because she's my daughter, Mike."
He chuckled.
"Relax. It's a nice place outside Gatlinburg. I'll text you the address."
"Please do."
"And don't worry about packing. I'll handle everything."
I thought about Brittany arriving Saturday afternoon.
I thought about my daughter walking into a strange cabin and finding her father with another woman.
"Mike?"
"Yeah?"
"Promise me something."
"Anything."
"Don't lie to me about where Sadie will be."
The silence lasted just a fraction too long.
"Of course not, Becca. Why would I?"
"I don't know."
After we hung up, I placed the phone facedown.
Hannah didn't speak for several seconds.
Then she said, "That sounded rehearsed."
"He's been rehearsing for months."
She asked whether I wanted to investigate the property issue first or discuss immediate custody concerns.
"Both," I said.
My next call was to my sister, Laura.
Laura worked in real estate and had spent years telling me that Mike was charming enough to sell snow in Alaska.
She'd never liked how he insisted on controlling our finances.
When I told her what had happened, she swore so loudly that Hannah heard her through the phone.
"That lying son of a—"
"Laura, please."
"No. Absolutely not. You listen to me, Becca. I'm coming over tonight."
"Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because I need everyone to act normal until I understand what's happening."
Laura went quiet.
Then she asked, "Does this have something to do with the house?"
My stomach tightened.
"What do you mean?"
"I drove past your place yesterday. There was a real estate photographer outside."
I stared at the phone.
"What?"
"A guy with a camera and tripod. Mike was standing beside him."
I gripped the edge of Hannah's desk.
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. I waved. Mike looked surprised."
My breathing became shallow.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I assumed you knew."
I swallowed.
"Laura, can you find out whether our house is listed?"
"Give me five minutes."
She hung up.
Hannah leaned back.
"Okay. We need to document this."
The next five minutes felt longer than the previous sixteen years.
Then Laura called back.
Her voice was different.
Not angry anymore.
Frightened.
"Becca, are you sitting down?"
"Yes."
"Your house isn't publicly listed."
I exhaled.
"But there's something else."
"What?"
"Mike contacted an agent about a private sale. He described the property as an investment home he controls."
I felt my blood turn cold.
"Investment home?"
"Yes. And Becca?"
"What?"
"The agent's notes mention a proposed closing date."
I looked at Hannah.
"When?"
"December eighteenth."
Three days before Sadie's winter break.
I pressed my hand against my mouth.
Then Laura said the words that made the entire room spin.
"Becca, the buyer's name is Brittany Lawson."
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Finally, Hannah reached across the desk and touched my arm.
"Do you understand what this means?"
I nodded slowly.
Mike wasn't simply cheating.
He was trying to sell the home where our daughter had taken her first steps.
To the woman he'd been sleeping with.
I stared at the wedding photograph on my phone.
Then I opened Mike's latest message.
Love you, beautiful.
For the first time in sixteen years, I didn't answer.
And when I returned home that evening, I found a yellow envelope hidden beneath the passenger seat of Mike's truck.
Inside was a printed cabin reservation.
Three guests.
Michael Mitchell.
Brittany Lawson.
And Sadie Mitchell.
But underneath the reservation was something even worse.
A document titled:
May you like
PROPOSED PARENTING AGREEMENT.
And beside my name, in the space marked Mother's Signature, someone had already signed.
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