At dinner, my daughter quietly slipped a folded note in front of me. “Pretend You’re Sick And Get Out Of Here,” it read.

“Do you think I would joke about something like that?” Her eyes were watery, her face twisted in an expression mixing fear and anger. “I heard everything, Mom. Everything.”

A driver behind us honked, and I realized the light had turned green. I automatically hit the gas, driving without a destination, just to get away from the house. “Tell me exactly what you heard,” I asked, trying to stay calm, still feeling my heart pound against my ribs like a caged animal.

Sarah took a deep breath before starting. “I went downstairs for water last night. It was late, maybe two in the morning. Richard’s office door was slightly open, and the light was on. He was on the phone, whispering.” She paused, as if gathering courage. “At first, I thought it was about the company, you know, but then he said your name.”

My fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white.

“He said, ‘Everything is planned for tomorrow. Helen will drink her tea just like she always does during these events. No one will suspect a thing. It will look like a heart attack. You assured me?’ And then… then he laughed, Mom. He laughed like he was talking about the weather.”

I felt my stomach churn. This couldn’t be true. Richard, the man I shared my bed with, my life, planning my end. It was too absurd. “Maybe you misunderstood,” I suggested, desperately searching for any alternative explanation. “Maybe it was about another Helen. Or maybe it was some kind of metaphor for a business deal.”

Sarah shook her head vehemently. “No, Mom. He was talking about you, about the brunch today. He said with you out of the way, he would have full access to the insurance money and the house.” She hesitated before adding, “And he mentioned my name, too. He said that afterward, he would ‘take care of me,’ one way or another.”

A coldness shot down my spine. Richard had always been so loving, so attentive. How could I have been so wrong? “Why would he do that?” I murmured, more to myself than to her.

“The life insurance, Mom. The one you two took out six months ago. Remember? A million dollars.”

I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. The insurance. Of course, Richard had insisted so much on that policy, saying it was to protect me. But now, in this new, sinister light, I realized it had been the other way around from the start.

“There’s more,” Sarah continued, her voice almost a whisper now. “After he hung up, he started looking through some papers. I waited for him to leave and went into the office. There were documents about his debts, Mom. Lots of debts. It looks like the company is almost bankrupt.”

I pulled the car over to the shoulder, unable to keep driving. Richard was bankrupt? How did I not know?

“I also found this,” Sarah said, pulling a folded paper from her pocket. “It’s a statement from another bank account in his name. He’s been transferring money there for months—small amounts, so it wouldn’t raise suspicion.”

I took the paper with trembling hands. It was true. An account I knew nothing about, accumulating what looked like our money—my money, actually, from the sale of the apartment I had inherited from my parents. The reality began to crystallize, cruel and undeniable. Richard wasn’t just bankrupt; he had been systematically stealing from me for months. And now, he had decided I was worth more gone than present.

“Oh my god,” I whispered, feeling nauseous. “How was I so blind?”
Sarah put her hand on mine, a gesture of comfort that seemed absurdly mature. “It’s not your fault, Mom. He fooled everyone.”Suddenly, a terrible thought struck me. “Sarah, did you take those documents from his office? What if he notices they’re missing?”The fear returned to her eyes. “I took pictures with my phone and put everything back. I don’t think he’ll notice.” But even as she said it, neither of us seemed convinced. Richard was meticulous.

“We need to call the police,” I decided, grabbing my phone.

“And say what?” Sarah challenged. “That he was talking about it on the phone? That we found documents showing he’s diverting money? We have no real proof of anything, Mom.”

She was right. It was our word against his: a respected businessman against a hysterical ex-wife and a troubled teenager. As we weighed our options, my phone vibrated. A text from Richard: Where are you? The guests are asking for you. His message seemed so normal, so mundane.

“What are we going to do now?” Sarah asked, her voice trembling.

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