Chapter 5 - The Ring I Paid ForFor sixteen years, I'd believed the worst feeling in marriage was loneliness.
I was wrong.
The worst feeling was realizing you'd been financing the life your husband planned to build with someone else.
I stared at the photograph of Brittany's engagement ring until the screen of my phone dimmed.
Mike had proposed to her.
Not after a divorce.
Not after telling me he wanted to separate.
While he was still coming home to our bed.
While I was packing his lunches.
While Sadie was drawing family portraits for her school refrigerator.
I enlarged the picture.
Brittany was smiling so widely that her eyes had nearly disappeared.
Mike stood beside her wearing the navy polo shirt I'd bought him for Father's Day.
Behind them was the gold lettering of an expensive Knoxville jewelry store.
Then I noticed something else.
The ring.
An oval diamond with tiny stones around the band.
I knew that ring.
Three weeks earlier, Mike had shown me a photograph of it.
He'd said he was helping a coworker choose an engagement ring.
"Good taste, huh?" he'd asked.
I'd laughed.
"Expensive taste."
He'd kissed my cheek.
"Only the best for my girl."
Apparently, he'd meant Brittany.
I forwarded the photograph to Hannah.
Then I called the number that had sent it.
A man answered.
"Hello?"
"Who is this?"
There was a pause.
"Someone who thinks you deserve to know the truth."
My heart hammered.
"What's your name?"
"Daniel Price."
I recognized it immediately.
Daniel was a firefighter at Station 9.
Mike's closest friend.
He'd attended our wedding.
He'd held Sadie the day she came home from the hospital.
He'd eaten countless dinners in our kitchen.
"Daniel?"
"Becca, I'm sorry."
I closed my eyes.
"You knew?"
"Not at first."
"How long?"
"About six weeks."
I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
He exhaled shakily.
"Because Mike said you were separated. He told everyone you were working out the details privately."
"We're not separated."
"I know that now."
I didn't answer.
Daniel continued.
"I saw Brittany at the station. She brought lunch. Mike introduced her as his girlfriend."
I swallowed.
"In front of everyone?"
"Not everyone. A few guys."
"And nobody thought to call me?"
"Mike said you both agreed to keep things quiet for Sadie's sake."
I laughed bitterly.
That sounded exactly like him.
Always using Sadie as the explanation.
Always making his lies sound like sacrifices.
"Then why are you telling me now?"
Daniel was silent.
Finally, he said, "Because yesterday I heard him talking about a house."
My pulse quickened.
"What house?"
"Yours."
I sat up.
"What did he say?"
"He was on the phone with somebody. He said the transfer had to happen before Christmas, or Rebecca would start asking questions."
My fingers went numb.
"Anything else?"
"Yeah."
He hesitated.
"He said once the money cleared, he'd be free."
I stared out at the quiet street.
Free.
That was how my husband described escaping from our marriage.
Not heartbroken.
Not regretful.
Free.
"Daniel, I need to know something."
"Anything."
"Did Mike tell anyone at the station that I wasn't taking care of Sadie?"
A pause.
"Yes."
My throat tightened.
"What did he say?"
"That you were emotionally checked out. That you spent all your time at the bakery."
I closed my eyes.
"And people believed him?"
"Some did."
"Did you?"
Daniel sighed.
"I remembered the night Sadie had pneumonia and you slept in the hospital chair for four days. So no. I didn't."
For the first time that morning, tears spilled down my cheeks.
"Thank you."
"Becca, there's more."
I wiped my face.
"What?"
"Mike's been telling people you're having some kind of breakdown."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"A breakdown?"
"He says you're paranoid. That you accuse him of things. That he's worried about leaving Sadie alone with you."
I gripped my phone.
Every accusation was preparation.
Every lie was another brick in the wall he was building around me.
And if I hadn't gone to the salon that morning, I might never have known until it was too late.
"Daniel, can you tell Hannah what you've told me?"
"Yes."
"Would you be willing to put it in writing?"
"Absolutely."
We arranged for him to speak with her that afternoon.
Then I drove to Rosie's.
The bakery smelled of cinnamon, butter, and warm bread.
Normally, walking through its front door made everything feel manageable.
Not today.
My assistant manager, Julia Parker, looked up from the register.
"Becca? You look terrible."
"Thank you."
She blinked.
I attempted a smile.
"Sorry. Rough morning."
Julia had worked for me for eight years.
She was thirty-six, divorced, and raising twin boys.
She knew more about the bakery than anyone besides me.
And she could read my face better than most people.
"Office," she said.
I followed her.
The moment the door closed, I burst into tears.
Julia hugged me without asking questions.
For nearly five minutes, I couldn't speak.
When I finally told her everything, her reaction surprised me.
She wasn't shocked.
She was furious.
"That woman was here."
I looked up.
"What woman?"
"Brittany."
My blood ran cold.
"When?"
"Last Tuesday."
I stared at her.
"Here?"
Julia nodded.
"Blonde. Late twenties. Expensive handbag. She asked about the property."
"What did she say?"
"She claimed she was a commercial real estate investor. Wanted to know whether you'd ever considered selling."
My stomach twisted.
"What did you tell her?"
"That Rosie's wasn't for sale."
"Then what?"
Julia crossed her arms.
"She got strange. Asked whether your husband had any ownership in the business."
I felt sick.
"And?"
"I told her she needed to speak directly with you."
I sat down.
Brittany hadn't merely been sleeping with my husband.
She'd come into my grandmother's bakery and tried to measure what she could take.
Julia pulled out her phone.
"Wait."
She opened the store's security system.
"She came in around two in the afternoon. I remember because the lunch rush had just ended."
She scrolled through the footage.
Then stopped.
There she was.
Brittany Lawson.
Wearing a cream-colored coat.
Smiling at the register.
Julia turned up the volume.
Brittany's voice came through clearly.
"I'm actually looking into the ownership of this building. Michael Mitchell suggested I stop by."
I stared at the screen.
Julia spoke from behind the counter.
"Becca owns Rosie's."
Brittany smiled.
"Oh, I know. But Michael says they're considering a major change."
Then she looked toward the office door.
And said something that made my skin crawl.
"Sometimes women don't realize what they're sitting on until somebody smarter comes along."
Julia paused the footage.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then she whispered, "Becca, you need to see what happened after she left."
She advanced the video.
Five minutes later, the back office door opened.
Mike walked out.
He'd been there.
Inside my bakery.
While Brittany questioned my employee.
He carried a folder beneath his arm.
And tucked inside that folder was a red document sleeve.
I recognized it.
It held the original deed and insurance records for my grandmother's building.
Documents I'd kept in my office filing cabinet for years.
Julia stared at the footage.
"Oh, my God."
I watched my husband smile at the security camera as he walked out.
Then I reached for my phone.
Because I suddenly remembered something.
Two weeks earlier, the bank had mailed us a confirmation letter.
Mike had told me it concerned our homeowner's insurance.
I'd never opened it.
I checked the photograph of the envelope I'd taken before throwing away the packaging.
The return address wasn't from an insurance company.
It was from a commercial lender.
And the reference number matched the proposed loan paperwork Hannah had found.
I forwarded everything to her.
Three minutes later, she called.
"Becca, where are you?"
"Rosie's."
"Is Mike there?"
"No."
"Good. I need you to listen carefully."
My heartbeat thundered.
"What?"
"The loan application was submitted using documents that appear to contain your electronic signature. We need to investigate whether a loan was actually funded."
"Okay."
"And there's another issue."
I gripped the desk.
"What issue?"
"The financial records show a significant transfer out of your joint account."
"How much?"
Hannah took a breath.
"Sixty-eight thousand dollars."
The room went silent.
"Where did it go?"
"A bank account associated with Brittany Lawson."
I stared at the frozen security footage.
My husband walking out of my office.
My grandmother's documents beneath his arm.
The same man who'd complained that Rosie's took too much of my time.
Now I knew why.
He hadn't wanted me to close the bakery because he cared about our marriage.
He wanted me out of the way.
And he was using the money I'd worked for to help another woman replace me.
I stood up.
"Julia, call our accountant."
She nodded.
"What are we doing?"
I looked at my grandmother's photograph hanging above the office desk.
Rosie Bennett.
A woman who had raised four children after her husband died and opened a bakery with three hundred dollars borrowed from her sister.
She had survived things far worse than an unfaithful man.
I could almost hear her voice.
Don't waste your life begging someone to treat you right, Rebecca.
I picked up my purse.
"We're making sure nobody steals what Grandma Rosie built."
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from Mike.
Hey, babe. Could you sign a couple of bank papers tonight? Just routine stuff.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
And for the first time since the salon, I smiled.
Because Mike had no idea that his carefully arranged plan was about to begin falling apart.
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