The second he left, Mom calmly wiped her tears and snapped:

"That necklace cost three million dollars. The most expensive thing he ever gave me, and it's not even on the inventory."

Wow. Even furious, she was stunning.

All these years, I'd thought Mom only cared about love, not money.

Once she'd let it all out, she grabbed my hand. "Sweetie, how do you even know about your dad's assets?"

"Billions, really? How do I know nothing about this?"

Of course she didn't.

For twenty years she'd stayed home, a model wife and mother, never once asking about his business, letting him arrange every part of our lives.

If Dad said east, she never went west.

The only thing she ever cried about was him neglecting her, being gone all the time.

These last few years, with him barely home, her temper had only gotten worse.

The madwoman in the attic was always a man's making.

Following the comments, I pulled out my phone and brought up a few pages.

"Look. That no-name company he invested in at the start of the year? It went public, a huge IPO. His forty-six percent stake is worth around 1.2 billion."

Mom's mouth fell open. She couldn't get out a word.

"Add the two other hot tech companies, a dozen-plus properties, and an offshore trust, and conservatively, he's worth north of three billion."

I dug up the latest financial news.

"As of last month, he's officially the richest man in the city."

Mom sank into the couch, dazed.

"It's marital property. You're entitled to half."

Her eyes lit up, then clouded again.

"Ever since I turned forty, your dad's been getting bolder. But he never once mentioned divorce."

"This new girl got him to say it outright. She must have something. Can I really get that much?"

I steadied her by the shoulders. "Don't worry, Mom. As long as you keep playing the part, it's a lock!"

She sighed. "But sweetie, what's the point of money without love? When I was with him, I never thought about money at all."

I understood her. When she married Dad, he was just an ordinary office worker. He made his first real money off an investment from my grandfather.

But my hopeless-romantic mom didn't get it: a man's love was sometimes just a measure of how useful you were to him.

That other woman. Hmph. I'd deal with her in my own time.

"Mom," I coaxed, "your daughter already got into Yale. Business school tuition is brutal. There's a lot I want to do, and all of it takes money."

"There's no love left anyway. So all those years of your youth, everything you gave up, he should pay for it. In cash."

Mom blinked those big innocent eyes and nodded, half-understanding.

The comments sighed. [Queens get the bag.]

[With that face, she could've gone to Hollywood. She wasted her youth on a deadbeat, and now he's gaslit her out of even wanting the money.]

[Being a lovesick fool will wreck you!]

I nodded along, cheering her on. "See? Just those few lines and Dad couldn't even look at you! Keep up that act, Mom. We’ve got this.!"

Mom sighed, lifted her phone, and checked her reflection. "True. I really am a stunning older woman."

When Dad came back, he set the new agreement gently in the dead center of the coffee table, as if that made it fairer.

Mom had rehearsed in front of me the day before, and now she was brimming with confidence.

She wore the white strapless dress Dad liked best and flipped through a couple of pages.

I caught the numbers out of the corner of my eye.

Hah.

Fifty million more, plus two apartments.

Against his three billion, it was nothing.

Even the comments were outraged on our behalf.

[That's it? Did he get rich by being a cheapskate?]

[He still has no idea his wife and kid know exactly how loaded he is!]

[Man's addicted to lowballing people.]

I faked devastation, rushed over, and closed the folder. "Dad... can we not talk about this right now? I'm leaving for school soon. We won't get many more chances to be together, just the three of us. Mom cooked a whole table of your favorites by hand. She pricked her fingers doing it. Mom does so much for this family, I just..."

His eyes went wide.

Mom was the pampered daughter of a wealthy family, trained in dance. She kept our home spotless and kept herself beautiful, a living statue you'd find in a Paris gallery.

The one thing she couldn't do was cook, and Dad always complained about it.

Later, after enough fights, she stopped cooking altogether.

Even once she'd mastered it, she only cooked for me, out of spite.

Mom froze for a second, then caught my cue and ran with it.

She touched her fingertips lightly. "It's true. You work so hard, and still you came here to sort out the agreement."

She bowed her head, wounded.

"I wasn't a good wife, back then."

She sat at the table and ladled him a bowl of soup. "When you were first starting out, you worked so late. The clam soup I made was too fishy for you to even swallow."

A single tear dropped into the bowl.

"After the company took off," her voice quavered, "even at home, the only ham in the fridge was molded over. The one thing that made you happy was eating out at Michelin places with me."

"You drank so much you ended up with a perforated stomach, and I couldn't even make a decent broth to settle it. I made you bleed. All I could do was sit by your hospital bed. You were so sick that time. I stayed three days, cried three days, prayed three days. Thank God you woke up."

"You've had it so hard all these years. So maybe I just don't deserve much. Fifty million is plenty. I'm content."

The comments laughed out loud.

[With cooking like that, she should've just poisoned him and taken the inheritance!]

[Honestly, impressive the daughter made it to adulthood.]

I bit down so hard my face went red, not daring to laugh.

Only Dad was actually taking it in.

The hand holding his spoon went still.

His expression changed.

"You stayed... the whole time? Why did you never tell me?"

Mom shook her head.

"We were husband and wife. It's what you do. Nothing worth mentioning."

"You matter more to me than anything. More than dance."

She looked at him with longing as she spoke, her nose reddening, and with one blink the tears fell.

The timing couldn’t be more perfect!

He was leaving her, and she still loved him this much, still put him first.

Just like all those years ago, when she chose to get pregnant, to have me, to leave the company, all for the family.

In his early start-up years, the company nearly went under three times. Too proud to ask my grandfather again, it was Mom who emptied her savings and sold every piece of jewelry she had to fill the holes.

She never disturbed my father even when she fell unconscious from illness, all so he could focus on his career.

Dad genuinely believed he'd been a good husband, a good father, that he'd let us coast through twenty easy, comfortable years.

Men had selective memory for anything that didn't benefit them.

But his greatest weakness was that arrogance, the certainty that he could take care of everyone.

Sure enough, he set down the spoon, stood, walked to the living room, and picked up the agreement.

Then he tore it apart.

"The West End villa is yours, and you can take whichever car you want. I'll give you a hundred million, and then another hundred million on top of that. Leah still has school, so I'll give her two million a year until she graduates."

Mom shook her head desperately.

"No. I can't accept that."

Dad only grew firmer.

"No. You have to take it. I'll arrange it tomorrow."

The comments drifted by again.

[The more she refuses, the more he wants to give! Men are honestly pathetic!]

[Is he really the richest man in the city? How's a woman who hasn't worked in twenty years playing him this easily!]

[Don't tell me he's a lovesick fool too?]

Dad was about to keep going when his phone rang.

Vivian.

A comment: [Here she comes, here she comes, strutting right in.]

[Is every mistress on earth named Vivian?]

[Welp. My own name's Vivian. Crying.]

I silently swiped through the comments, knowing trouble was coming.

But it didn't matter. The call came at the perfect time. We'd already gotten what we came for today.

Dad picked up, soothing the other end in a low voice. "What? You're not feeling well? I'll be right over..."

He hung up, turned, his tone urgent but laced with guilt. "I... have something to handle. Work."

Mom's face went stiff. Then she gave a small nod.

The door slammed.

He knew Mom had put so much into this dinner, and he still walked out the second that woman called.

Mom didn't say anything. She turned her back to me and looked out the window.

Twenty years of marriage. She was probably still a little sad.

I crouched and gently took her hand.

She stroked my hair.

I blinked up at her.

"Mom, that piece of land? It's worth two hundred million now."

Her eyes lit up.

The sadness vanished in a flash.

Sure enough, money really was the best medicine in the world!

But money like that didn't come easy, of course.

The next day, Vivian showed up at our door.

She wore a Chanel coat and carried a Hermes bag so loaded with Labubu charms it looked too heavy to lift.

The actual mistress, and yet she insisted on selling this sweet, innocent act.

When she saw us, she smiled like a winner.

"Evelyn, finally we meet. Samuel kept telling me not to come. But I heard you were upset, so I figured I really ought to pay you a visit."

Her voice was sweet to the point of cloying, like a bag of dollar-store candy.

Mom gave a faint smile and turned to tell the housekeeper to pour tea.

She winked at me, looking a little excited.

A new script to play, after all.

I shrank behind Mom, playing the helpless daughter.

Vivian looked me up and down.

"This must be Leah. Your dad always says you're... very well-behaved."

She paused a long beat, as if it took real effort to find one nice thing to say about me.

She smiled. "Soon I'll be your mom too."

The comments grabbed their popcorn:

[Nah, her acting's nowhere near as good as the real Mom's.]

[The mean-girl energy is leaking through the screen. She couldn't fake it if she tried.]

I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

She looked barely a few years older than me. Hearing that made me want to gag.

Mom sat down across from her, spine straight, carrying herself a hundred times better than this woman.

Vivian's eyes landed on Mom's face.

"So what skincare do you use?"

Mom set down her cup, sounding mildly surprised. "Oh, I don't really use skincare. A bit of sun, plenty of water, and that's it."

Vivian's grip on her cup tightened. She managed a stiff smile, her eyes sweeping over Mom.

"No wonder. Well, you'll have to start taking better care of yourself. You're not exactly a sweet young twenty-something men dote on, like us."

Mom was forty-two.

She was trying to stab at Mom with her youth.

But Mom only smiled lightly and nodded. "You're right. Men always love twenty-year-old girls. The thing is, nobody stays twenty forever."

The comments were dazzled:

[Mom's so clear-headed. How did the deadbeat have her fooled for twenty years?]

[Women: brilliant the second they fall out of love!]

Stumped, Vivian snapped, "You're good at comforting yourself. About to get dumped and still sitting here playing it cool."

Mom kept smiling. "I just want him to be happy."

The comments teared up. [I genuinely can't tell anymore whether Mom's acting.]

Seeing that line of attack fail, Vivian tried another way to get under Mom's skin. She swept a hand through her red hair, conveniently flashing the thirty-carat diamond on her ring finger.

"Oh, this? Samuel paid five million for it at auction. I told him it was too much, but he wouldn't hear it. He says when he sees something he likes, he just has to buy it for me. There's no stopping him."

Mom's breath caught.

Her ruby necklace had only cost three million.

No woman could stomach that comparison.

Her fury looked ready to burn the woman alive!

The comments panicked:

[Mom, don't crack now, don't let her win!]

[The second you snap, the deadbeat walks in and "catches" you bullying her. That's exactly how these stories always go!]

I nodded fast and tugged her sleeve.

She took a deep breath and said dryly, "Young girls really are easy to fool. Women our age only accept what holds its value: gold."

Vivian's mouth twitched, angrier now. "Hmph. Diamonds may not hold their value, but the baby in here? She does."

She dropped the bomb so casually.

"Samuel says it's definitely a boy. He'll take over the company one day."

"Honestly, I envy you and Leah. You get to take it easy every single day."

"But if you two ever need help, just ask, and I'll be there. You've never worked a day, and Leah, well, Leah doesn't really know much about anything."

A mistress, stepping on us, and offering to "help" us with my dad's money?

My fingers tightened around my cup. I wanted to throw the hot tea right in her face!

Mom gripped the couch, just as furious.

Uh-oh. I couldn't hold her back.

Right as she was about to blow, the fingerprint lock clicked at the door.

Comments drifted past.

[Oh no, oh no, the deadbeat's here, and now this woman's going to pull something!]

[Hold it together! The smugger she is now, the harder she'll fall later! And honestly, who even knows whose kid that is!]

My stomach dropped, but Vivian had already made her move.

She glanced toward the door, took a step forward, then flinched as if something had startled her. Mom instinctively raised her arm.

That one motion.

Vivian let out a sharp cry, lurched to the side, right hand clamped over her belly, her face flipping from smug to terrified in a heartbeat.

"You—"

The word was barely out when Dad came rushing in.

"What's going on?"

Vivian's eyes went red.

"I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come. It's just, the moment Evelyn saw this ring she got so worked up she had to grab it and look. I'm sure she didn't mean to shove me..."

"I didn't—"

"Enough."

Dad didn't give her the chance to explain.

He looked at her with disgust.

"Evelyn, you're still completely out of line! So vicious! I thought we could end this with some dignity!"

Before Mom could speak, he wrapped an arm around Vivian and turned to go.

"Don't be scared, I've got you. This shrew won't dare lay a finger on you."

The door closing landed like a blow on both of us.

That beautiful face filled with grief she couldn't hold back. "I'm... not dignified? The ring he proposed to me with was a few-hundred-dollar moissanite. Twenty years of marriage, and he won't listen to a single word of explanation..."

I reached over and gently took her hand.

Love that was gone didn't come back.

Only money never disappeared.

I held tighter. "Don't worry, Mom. I recorded everything she just said."

"You don't need to fight her, and you absolutely can't fight Dad. The assets aren't split yet. She's pregnant, and one little crying fit from her could cost us a fortune!"

Mom looked up. "You recorded it? It can prove I'm innocent?"

She smiled, though it came out strained.

"How ironic. Twenty years married, and I need someone else to prove I'm innocent."

Then the self-pity drained from her face, replaced by something cold. "I can't wait for that idiot to see exactly what kind of woman he’s head over heels for!"