Chapter 4 - THE OTHER WOMAN KNEW MY NAMEI expected to hate Natalie.
That would have been easier.
A villain.
A home-wrecker.
The woman who knowingly slept with someone else's husband.
But life refused to make things that simple.
I didn't contact her immediately.
Angela advised me to wait until we had more documentation.
For the next four days, I behaved normally.
I made Emma breakfast.
I worked.
I washed laundry.
I answered Brandon with short, neutral sentences.
He apparently interpreted my silence as surrender.
On Wednesday evening, he even reached for me in bed.
I stepped away.
“Not tonight.”
He sighed.
“How long is this punishment going to last?”
I stared at him.
There is something almost impressive about a liar's confidence when he believes his lie still works.
“I'm tired.”
“So am I.”
He rolled over.
Within fifteen minutes, he was asleep.
I lay beside him thinking about Natalie.
The next morning, Angela called.
“We found something.”
I went to her office during lunch.
She turned her monitor toward me.
“The HELOC application uses your electronic signature.”
“I didn't authorize it.”
“I believe you.”
“How do we prove that?”
“The application was submitted from an IP address.”
“And?”
“The originating device appears to have been connected to Brandon's office network.”
I exhaled slowly.
Angela continued.
“More importantly, according to the lender's records, verification was completed using a phone number ending in 9174.”
“That isn't mine.”
“Whose is it?”
I knew.
Brandon had an old secondary phone he claimed was for work.
It ended in 9174.
Angela folded her hands.
“We have enough to ask serious questions.”
“Is that criminal?”
“Potentially. But right now I'm focused on protecting you financially.”
She gave me instructions.
Open an individual checking account.
Redirect my salary.
Freeze my credit.
Inventory household assets.
Document everything valuable.
Take photographs.
Change passwords.
Do not move large marital assets without legal guidance.
I followed every instruction.
Then I asked the question that had been consuming me.
“Should I talk to Natalie?”
Angela studied me.
“Do you know whether she knows he's married?”
“No.”
“Then assume nothing.”
That afternoon I sent Natalie a message.
Hello. My name is Gwen Dupont. I believe we need to talk about Brandon.
She replied twelve minutes later.
Who is this?
I typed:
His wife.
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Reappeared.
Then vanished for ten minutes.
Finally:
That's not funny.
I sent a photograph from our anniversary dinner.
Brandon beside me.
His arm around my waist.
Emma between us.
Timestamped four months earlier.
No response.
Twenty-seven minutes later, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman whispered, “Are you really his wife?”
“Yes.”
She started crying.
Not theatrical crying.
The sound of someone whose reality had just cracked open.
“He told me you were divorced.”
“We aren't.”
“He said you still lived together because of your daughter.”
“He sleeps in my bed.”
Silence.
Then vomiting.
I heard her drop the phone.
When she returned, she sounded weak.
“I'm eight months pregnant.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“I found your social media.”
“Oh God.”
“Did Brandon tell you I'm unstable?”
A long pause.
“Yes.”
Of course he had.
“What else?”
“That you cheated first.”
I laughed once.
“Never.”
“That your marriage ended years ago.”
“No.”
“That you refused to sign divorce papers.”
“He has never given me divorce papers.”
Natalie's breathing became uneven.
Then she said something I didn't expect.
“He proposed to me.”
The words hit harder than the photographs.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Do you have a ring?”
“Yes.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Did he pay for it?”
“I assume.”
“How much?”
“Why?”
“Because I may have paid for it too.”
She went silent.
We met the next day.
Not at Riverstone Towers.
At a quiet coffee shop twenty minutes outside town.
Natalie arrived wearing a loose maternity dress and no makeup.
She looked terrified.
She also looked younger than her pictures.
I expected jealousy.
Instead I saw another woman who had been manipulated by the same man.
She sat down and placed a diamond ring on the table.
“I can't wear it.”
I looked at it.
Large stone.
Platinum band.
“What did he say it cost?”
“Twelve thousand.”
I almost laughed.
Six months earlier Brandon had refused to replace our broken dishwasher because “money didn't grow on trees.”
Natalie wiped her eyes.
“I need you to understand something.”
“Okay.”
“I would never knowingly date a married man.”
“I believe you.”
She seemed surprised.
“Why?”
“Because I've seen what Brandon does when he's cornered.”
I showed her the financial documents.
Her face changed.
Then she pulled out her phone.
“I think you need to see something too.”
She opened messages.
There were hundreds.
Brandon telling her he loved her.
Brandon calling me manipulative.
Brandon saying our divorce would be finalized soon.
Then financial messages.
Once the house sells, we'll have enough for the new place.
I stared.
“The house?”
Natalie swallowed.
“He said you agreed to sell it after the divorce.”
“I agreed to nothing.”
Another message.
Gwen already signed the refinance documents. Everything is moving.
My chest tightened.
He had used my forged signature as proof to his mistress that our marriage was ending.
Natalie scrolled further.
“I also gave him money.”
“How much?”
“Thirty thousand.”
“What?”
“He said he needed help buying out your share of the house.”
I closed my eyes.
“Where did you get thirty thousand?”
“My grandmother left it to me.”
“Do you have records?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to the money?”
“I transferred it to an account he gave me.”
She showed me.
It was one of the accounts I had discovered.
Brandon wasn't only stealing from our marriage.
He had been taking money from Natalie too.
Then she showed me a message dated two months earlier.
My mother says once everything is settled, she'll finally be able to welcome you properly.
I stared at it.
“His mother knows about you?”
Natalie nodded reluctantly.
“I met her.”
Everything inside me became quiet.
“When?”
“Christmas.”
I couldn't speak.
Christmas.
While I had been home preparing dinner for Brandon's entire family.
Rosalind had told me she needed to leave for an “emergency church committee meeting.”
She had apparently gone to meet her son's pregnant girlfriend.
“What did she say?”
Natalie looked ashamed.
“She said your marriage had been dead for years.”
I remembered Rosalind standing in my kitchen afterward.
She had complimented the turkey.
Accepted the gift I purchased.
Hugged me.
Then asked me to clean the serving platters before I went to bed.
She knew.
The humiliation at her birthday had not been about noodles.
It had been about control.
She had expected me to continue playing wife until Brandon was ready to replace me.
Natalie touched my hand.
“Gwen?”
I looked at her.
“There's more.”
Of course there was.
“Brandon told me the trust distributions were going toward your gambling problem.”
I stared.
“My what?”
“He said that's why he had to keep accounts separate.”
I laughed.
The sound frightened both of us.
I had gambled exactly twice in my life.
Twenty dollars at a casino on our honeymoon.
Five dollars at a charity raffle.
Yet in Brandon's alternate universe, I was apparently a financially reckless adulterer refusing to accept a divorce while gambling away his inheritance.
Natalie shook her head.
“I feel so stupid.”
“Don't.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because I spent eight years believing him.”
She looked at me.
“You didn't know.”
“Neither did you.”
Then she said something that changed our positions entirely.
“I want to help you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Whatever messages you need.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“What about Brandon?”
Her face hardened.
“My son deserves a father.”
I waited.
“But he doesn't deserve a liar controlling his mother.”
For the first time since the birthday dinner, I felt something besides grief.
Not happiness.
Power.
Brandon had spent years creating separate realities.
One for me.
One for Natalie.
One for his mother.
One for his uncle.
One for the banks.
His entire life depended on keeping those realities from touching.
Now Natalie and I were sitting across a coffee table.
May you like
Comparing notes.
And Brandon had no idea.
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