Chapter 3 - THE LOAN APPLICATION

The loan application was for eight hundred thousand dollars.

My signature was on it.

It was not my signature.

Ryan had submitted copies of our tax returns, insurance records, and my driver's license.

He knew exactly where those documents were because I had spent years treating marriage like permission.

The bank froze the application.

My attorney, Naomi Price, arrived before noon.

"Do not call him."

"I already called him twelve times."

"Did he answer?"

"No."

"Good. Stop."

I hated being told what to do in my own crisis.

I also knew Naomi was right.

Ryan's location finally appeared through the family car app.

Downtown.

At a private medical office.

Vivian saw the address and went pale.

"You know it?"

"No."

She was lying.

Margaret watched her.

"Tell her."

Vivian stood.

"I need to go home."

I blocked the gatehouse door.

Not physically.

I simply stood there.

Vivian stopped anyway.

"What is that office?"

She stared at the floor.

"Fertility clinic."

The room went silent.

My first thought was stupid.

We already have twins.

Then Naomi asked, "Why would Ryan be there?"

Vivian pressed her lips together.

Margaret closed her eyes.

"Vivian."

Finally she said, "Because he and I went there last month."

I stared at her.

"What?"

"Not for me, obviously."

Even then, she found room to be offended.

"Ryan wanted records."

"What records?"

"Oliver and Emma's."

I stopped breathing.

Our twins had been conceived after years of fertility treatment.

Ryan had insisted on handling most of the clinic paperwork because injections made me sick and work was relentless.

"Why?"

Vivian whispered, "He thinks one of the embryos wasn't yours."

I laughed once.

It sounded broken.

"That's impossible."

Naomi did not laugh.

"Claire, don't assume anything yet."

I looked at my children through the glass door.

Oliver was lining crackers along the rug.

Emma was trying to eat one sideways.

My whole body went cold.

Then my phone buzzed.

Ryan.

One message.

DON'T BELIEVE MY MOTHER. SHE'S TRYING TO SAVE HERSELF.

A second message followed.

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