In the third year of our marriage, my husband's first love got a divorce. He gave her the forty-five thousand dollars we had saved for a house because she was left with nothing and struggling to make ends meet.

I urged him to ask for the money back, but he pointed at my face and angrily shouted, "You used to be so gentle and virtuous—what happened? Why are you so selfish, so shallow now?"

"Is forty-five thousand dollars really worth you making a fuss over?"

"Chloe is starting over with nothing, raising a child on her own. Don't you feel any sympathy for her?"

Fine. He was noble, he was merciful.

I did not argue further, because the one who needed money for cancer treatment was him, not me.

The day I was supposed to pay for some tests at the hospital, I found out that the 45,000 dollars we had been saving for a house had disappeared from my bank account. That was three years of mine and my husband's hard work, gone.

Panicked, I called my husband, Francis Lewis, right away to see if he knew anything about the missing money.

Francis kept dodging my questions, but after my persistent pressing, he finally spilled the beans.

"Chloe's divorced. She's got nothing to her name, and with a kid to care for, I lent her the cash to get by."

Chloe Blake was his high school sweetheart. She left Francis when he was at his lowest, only to marry a wealthy man.

Every time he spoke about her, I could tell he was still bitter, complaining that she never appreciated how much he cared.

However, since Chloe was single again, Francis sang a different tune.

I let out a heavy sigh and glanced at the medical report in my hand. "Just make sure you get our money back. We'll talk about everything else when you get home tonight.

It was dark by the time I returned home that evening. Francis was on the couch with a bruise on his lip, puffing on a cigarette.

The whole place reeked of smoke.

I scrunched up my nose and asked, "What happened to your lip?"

Francis touched his lip, his eyes darting away. "Took a tumble."

I just nodded, not really buying it, and watched him light up another one. "You know, you really should quit smoking. It's not good for you. Also, did you get the money back?"

He rolled his eyes, lay back on the couch, and said, "I didn't ask for it. Let's just say that forty-five grand was for a good cause."

"What?!"

I dropped my bag on a chair, shaking with rage.

"Francis, you need to get our money back now! We saved that money together, and I'm entitled to my half. You can't just hand it over to her.

"Don't think I can't see what you're up to. Do you really think Chloe's going to come running back to you if you shower her with money?"

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Look, I'm thinking of what's best for you. That money is—"

I did not even get to finish. He shot up from the couch like I had hit a nerve, pointing right at me and launching into a tirade.

"Brianna Sawyer, you used to be so kind and considerate. What happened to you? How did you get so greedy and self-centered?

"Really? You're going to quibble over just forty-five thousand dollars? Chloe's out there with nothing but her kid, struggling every day. Don't you feel even a little bit sorry for her?"

His words stung, and I could not help but laugh, though I was fuming inside.

"Me? Greedy and self-centered?"

We had met on a blind date.

Back then, he was down on his luck—no job, no house, no car, freshly dumped by Chloe. He was a man with nothing.

However, he seemed honest and hardworking, and with my family's pressure to tie the knot, I said yes.

I was the one who supported him with my modest paycheck when his career was going nowhere.

Then, according to him, I was the one who was greedy and self-centered.

He clammed up, realizing he had crossed a line, and slumped back onto the couch, giving me the frosty shoulder.

That was how he was—never talked things through, never tried to fix anything.

I was so over his lordly attitude.

With a scoff, I laid down the law.

"Francis, listen up—if that cash isn't back in three days, we're done. We'll get divorced, plain and simple," I declared.

I packed my bags and stayed with my best friend, Layla Smith, for a couple of nights.

On day three, Francis rang me up, all high and mighty.

"Your money? I gave it to Chloe. Since you're so set on splitting, that's fine by me!"

I countered calmly, "We're married, Francis. I'm legally entitled to half of that forty-five grand you handed over. If we're calling it quits, she'll have to return my twenty-two thousand and five hundred dollars."

Francis yelled into the phone, "No way you're seeing that money again! It's Chloe's now. Dream on!"

I ended the call, totally stunned.

The guy did not even finish high school, so him not getting the legal stuff was no surprise.

Layla had been eavesdropping and after a long think, she smelled a rat.

She mused, "Brianna, doesn't your husband seem off to you? Even if he's Mr. Generosity, would he really fork over forty-five grand to an old flame, let alone be cool with funding someone else's kid? Mr. Tightwad? No chance."

She knew just how cheap Francis could be. At our wedding, while others splurged on bridesmaid gifts, he handed out cheap knick-knacks.

The guests got boxed lunches minus the meat—just bread. The guest shuttle was a rickety old bus from his backwater hometown. That wedding was one for the books.

However, that was exactly why her point hit home. Mr. Big Shot, footing the bill for someone else's wife and kid? No way.

We locked eyes, both floored by the revelation.

Unless that kid was his.

Ever since we tied the knot, he had been on my case about having kids.

Back then, my career was skyrocketing, and I was not in the best of health, so I turned him down.

He would gripe at me every few days for not wanting kids, but out of the blue, he stopped his nagging in our second year of marriage.

I figured he had gotten over it and felt a bit of relief.

However, what if he had fathered a son?

'Chloe's little boy is turning two this year!' I thought.

The timing could not be more spot-on.

Layla let out a contemptuous laugh, her voice filled with righteous anger. "I mean, why else would he fork over forty-five grand to his old sweetheart? Clearly, he's been playing away from home!"

She paused, a spark of realization in her eyes.

"Brianna, if you can dig up proof of his cheating while you were married, you could take him to the cleaners!"

I nodded, my mind racing with thoughts.

Francis mentioned Chloe walked away from her divorce empty-handed. She probably got caught in the act.

For someone as materialistic as Chloe, who ditched Francis for money back in the day, she would never get divorced without taking a penny.

Francis's affair was a done deal.

However, I was clueless without proof.

I went home the next day.

Francis was out, so I checked my phone and saw the picture he posted for all our friends to see, along with the caption he wrote.

[I've met a lot of people, but in the end, you're still my favorite.]

The photo showed just a glimpse of a woman's blue dress.

He was trying to be all poetic. I was not about to hold back—I hit 'like' and left a comment.

[Some creatures chow down on loads of meat but end up realizing they just love the taste of garbage.]

The comment section was full of our mutual friends.

They all thought the woman in his post was me, dropping comments like [Francis and Brianna are couple goals.]

The moment my comment hit the screen, anyone with half a brain could tell things were off.

The comments had been wiped out completely.

Then, my comment was the only one left, sticking out like a sore thumb.

I snapped my phone shut, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction, and headed to the study to boot up his computer.

I had always been big on privacy, never once snooping through his study, his phone, or his computer. I trusted Francis completely.

What a joke.

With a self-deprecating chuckle, I typed in Chloe's birthday at the login screen, and bingo, I was in.

His messenger was still logged in, right there on the screen. I clicked the icon and his chats with Chloe popped up, but there was nothing but voice messages.

I could not be bothered to listen to each one, so I hit the 'text-to-speech’ button..

Chloe had said, [My husband's onto us. He wants a divorce and is kicking me out with nothing.]

Francis replied, [Babe, how did he catch on? Relax, I've got you covered.]

Chloe sent back a pitiful little cat emoticon.

[I'm out on the street with our son with nowhere to go.]

[I can handle tough times, but our son? How's he supposed to live like this?]

Without missing a beat, Francis sent over the 45,000 dollars we had saved and boasted, [Babe, go and buy a house. This is for the down payment. It'll be in your name, and I'll handle the mortgage.]

Chloe took the money, still playing innocent.

[Oh? What about your wife? Won't she be mad?]

[Brianna doesn't dare to get mad at me. I keep her in line.]

[So, when are you dumping her? We can't have our son be illegitimate, can we?]

My blood boiled as the conversation went on, feeling sick to my stomach.

That was why Francis was so quick to agree to a divorce. He was in a rush to play house with his lover and kid on the side.

I scrolled through the transaction history between them, and it was littered with transfers.

I snapped photos of each transaction, leaving no stone unturned.

To make sure no one could cry wolf, I shot a video too, capturing the voice messages as I played each one back.

My phone was bursting with evidence, and I left feeling triumphant.

Francis called the moment I settled into the cab.

I picked up and heard his voice, panicked and angry.

"Are you out of your mind, posting that garbage on my feed? Take it down now!"

I could not help but laugh. "Garbage? I'm just telling everyone the truth."

Then, I heard a woman's soft crying in the background.

It clicked. He was tearing into me because Chloe was there, sobbing her heart out.

"What truth? You're just bitter because I gave Chloe forty-five thousand dollars. You can't stand her!"

His accusation nearly left me speechless.

Chloe got 45,000 dollars, half of which was mine. Why would I be okay with that?

No woman liked her husband's mistress.

I was done arguing, but I tried to give him one last piece of advice, for old times' sake.

"Francis, you should really get that money back, or else—"

I did not even get to finish. He cut me off, clearly annoyed.

"I've already told you, it's not easy for Chloe with the kid. Can't you show a little compassion? The money I gave Chloe is hers to keep. If you're so unhappy, then let's just get a divorce!"

Before I could get another word in, he slammed the phone down.

I nearly burst into laughter.

Francis could play the saint, the merciful one.

In the end, it was him with lung cancer, not me.