Chapter 2 - THE SLAP HE REFUSED TO STOP
The next morning, I called Grant Mercer, a private investigator Madison quietly recommended.
We met at a diner forty minutes from Westbridge.
Grant was in his late fifties, broad-shouldered, gray at the temples, with eyes that seemed to notice everything except what politeness required him to ignore.
“I need to know whether my husband is having an affair,” I told him.
He studied me.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“No.”
He waited.
I swallowed.
“But I need to.”
Eleven days later, he placed an envelope in front of me.
Inside were photographs.
Maxwell kissing Sophia in a hotel elevator in Manhattan.
Maxwell touching her waist.
Sophia entering a suite.
Both of them leaving four hours later.
There were restaurant receipts.
Parking records.
Photographs taken outside an apartment Maxwell claimed he had never visited.
I stared until the faces became shapes.
Grant said nothing.
Finally, I whispered, “How long?”
“From what I can verify? At least four months.”
My baby kicked.
I pressed my palm against my stomach and fought for air.
The affair had begun before Maxwell cried over our first ultrasound.
That detail nearly broke me.
I didn’t confront him.
Not yet.
I hired an attorney.
Eleanor Price practiced family law in Hartford from an understated office above a financial firm.
She was sixty-two and spoke with the calm precision of someone who had watched hundreds of people discover that love and law were very different languages.
I showed her Grant’s photographs.
“You have options,” she said.
“I’m not ready to file for divorce.”
“You don’t have to be.”
“I need to protect my child.”
“Then we begin there.”
At Eleanor’s suggestion, I documented everything.
Appointments.
Blood pressure.
Prenatal records.
Messages.
Financial statements.
Every unusual withdrawal.
Every unexplained absence.
I also started carrying a small voice recorder.
It felt paranoid.
Until the Sunday Sophia came to my house.
Rain streaked the windows that afternoon while I sat reading in the family room.
The housekeeper appeared in the doorway.
“Mrs. Carter, there’s a woman here asking for Mr. Carter.”
Then Sophia walked in.
Uninvited.
Wearing a black leather jacket wet from the rain.
She looked around my home like an appraiser.
“Victoria.”
It wasn’t a question.
I stood slowly.
“Yes?”
“Sophia Blake.”
“I know who you are.”
That surprised her.
Only briefly.
“Max said I could stop by.”
My thumb slid into my cardigan pocket and pressed the recorder.
A tiny vibration confirmed it was running.
“My husband isn’t home.”
“He will be.”
“You should leave.”
She smiled.
“You’re more direct than he says.”
My heart accelerated.
“What exactly does my husband say about me?”
The front door opened.
Maxwell walked in.
He stopped when he saw us.
The panic on his face told me more than any photograph ever could.
“Sophia.”
She turned sweetly.
“Hi, Max.”
I looked at him.
“Would you like to explain?”
His eyes moved between us.
“Sophia’s consulting on the Westmore transaction.”
“Does the Westmore transaction usually involve hotel suites?”
His face changed.
Sophia’s did not.
Interesting.
“So you know,” she said.
Maxwell stepped forward.
“Victoria, we should discuss this privately.”
I laughed once.
“You forfeited privacy when your girlfriend walked into my home.”
“I am not his girlfriend,” Sophia said.
“Then this should be easy. Leave.”
She walked closer instead.
“You know what your problem is?”
“Please enlighten me.”
“You think being pregnant makes you untouchable.”
Maxwell exhaled.
“Sophia, stop.”
But there was no authority in his voice.
She heard that too.
Her confidence grew.
“You’re living in a museum pretending everything is still perfect while your husband is suffocating.”
I looked at Maxwell.
He stared at the floor.
Sophia smiled.
“He needs someone who understands his world.”
“I helped build his world.”
Her smile tightened.
“No. You funded part of it and then became decorative.”
That landed.
Maxwell still said nothing.
I felt my daughter move inside me.
Suddenly, my humiliation became secondary.
I was angry.
Not wild.
Not hysterical.
Cold.
“Get out of my house.”
Sophia laughed.
“You don’t control Maxwell.”
“I’m not talking to Maxwell.”
I pointed toward the door.
“I’m talking to you.”
Her expression hardened.
“You really think he still wants you?”
“Sophia,” Maxwell warned.
She ignored him.
“He’s tired of coming home to vitamins and doctor appointments and conversations about cribs. He wants a woman, Victoria. Not a patient.”
My hands shook.
I forced them still.
“Maxwell.”
He finally looked at me.
“Are you going to let her speak to me like this?”
His jaw tightened.
For half a second, I saw embarrassment.
Maybe even guilt.
Then he sighed.
“Victoria, you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”
I stared at him.
“I’m making this difficult?”
“Let us talk in the study. We’ll handle it.”
Sophia smirked.
Something inside me became perfectly clear.
There would never be enough patience to turn this man back into the husband I remembered.
“Both of you can leave.”
Sophia stepped closer.
“Or what?”
“Or I call security.”
Her face twisted.
Then her hand moved.
The slap knocked my head sideways.
My hip hit the edge of a table.
Pain shot through my lower back.
My palm flew to my belly.
“Victoria!”
Maxwell moved.
But he moved toward Sophia.
He caught her wrist.
“Sophia, don’t.”
She jerked her arm away.
“She provoked me.”
My cheek burned.
“You watched her hit me.”
Maxwell looked sick.
“She lost control.”
“And you’re still defending her.”
“I’m trying to calm everyone down.”
I almost smiled.
Everyone.
As if all three of us had participated equally.
I looked directly at him.
“You’re going to regret this.”
Sophia rolled her eyes.
I turned and walked upstairs.
Only when my bedroom door locked behind me did my knees give out.
Claire checked my blood pressure and called my doctor.
The baby was fine.
I wasn’t.
But for the first time in months, being broken did not make me feel weak.
It made me precise.
That night, I uploaded the recording to three encrypted locations.
Then I listened to it once.
Sophia’s insults.
The slap.
My gasp.
And Maxwell’s voice.
Soft.
Almost tender.
“Sophia, don’t.”
I sent the file to Eleanor.
May you like
Her reply arrived two minutes later.
We move now.
