But now? Not even two years later, this man had fallen for it again? I kept on searching and I found a message where she told him to visualize “next-level abundance” while journaling on “blockages of belief.”
And Jason? This man had bought all of it. He wasn’t cheating. He was funneling our savings into a fantasy.
“No, she doesn’t ask questions,” he’d typed in one message. “She just thinks I’m tired. I’ll show her when the checks start rolling in. She’ll thank me later.”
My hands were shaking when I read that. That’s why he moved rooms. That’s why he locked the door. Not to protect his sleep, but to protect his lies.
When I confronted him, I didn’t go in swinging. I didn’t scream or throw the phone. I didn’t give him a reason to call me emotional.
I waited until dinner, grilled chicken and corn, guacamole on the side. I let Jason pour his drink, whiskey on ice. I even waited until he took the first bite, like a fool hosting a guest in her own grief.
My voice didn’t shake when I said it. “I found the messages,” I said. “With Lana.”
He blinked, slow and stupid. Like he hadn’t decided how to play it yet. Then he smiled. Like actually smiled… like a kid caught sneaking another cookie from the jar, not a man siphoning away a marriage.
“You weren’t supposed to see this.” That’s all he said at first. Not sorry. Not ashamed. Just… annoyed I’d seen behind the curtain.
“I did this for us,” he said, swirling his drink. “You don’t understand high-level strategy, Maya. You wouldn’t get it.”
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