“We… we’ve known for a while,” Mom finally admitted. “James confided in us about six months before—well, before the accident.”
The timeline hit me like a physical blow. Six months. They’d known for six months and still let me cry on their shoulders at his funeral, still accepted my money every month while knowing what he and Sarah had done.
“Traitors.” The word fell cold and final on my tongue. “All of you.”
I hung up and blocked their numbers. My hands shook as I opened my banking app, but I didn’t hesitate to cancel the monthly transfer to their account. Let them ask their precious Sarah for money.
Two weeks passed in a fog of missed calls and ignored text messages. Then came Sarah’s email—she’d sue me if I didn’t voluntarily give up half of everything. The word “voluntarily” had never looked so much like a curse.
I couldn’t bear to reply. Couldn’t bear to think about James’s betrayal; about how many people must have known, must have seen them together while I remained oblivious. The whispers at work became unbearable—pitying looks from some colleagues, barely concealed smirks from others. Tom, my boss and one of the few true friends I had left, called me into his office after I broke down in the middle of a client meeting.
“Take some time off,” he said gently. “Paid or unpaid—whatever works for you. Your job will be here when you’re ready to come back.”
I nodded gratefully and packed up my desk that same day.
The next few weeks blurred together as I became a hermit in my own home. I had groceries delivered, ignored the doorbell when it rang, and spent hours staring at old photos, trying to spot the signs I must have missed. Every happy memory now felt like a mockery; every moment of our marriage tainted by the knowledge that he had been living a double life with my own sister.
The news came via Facebook: Sarah had given birth to a boy. The photo showed her beaming in a hospital bed, our parents hovering proudly over their new grandson. The baby was wrapped in the cream-colored blanket I had knitted for the shower—which felt like a deliberate jab. I closed the app before I could read the comments, but not before noticing she’d named him James Jr.