In his name.
But I was listed as an additional contact.
He had claimed it was for “business expenses” that would later be reimbursed.
Some of the money had gone toward hotels, gifts, and the rental of a small apartment Milena sometimes used.
This wasn’t simply an affair.
It was a second life.
The lawyer I met was named Yana Kostova.
She was calm, with gentle eyes and a firm voice.
“Don’t make an irreversible decision while you’re in shock,” she told me. “But start protecting yourself. Make copies of the documents. Review the accounts. Don’t sign anything. And most importantly, don’t tell him what you know until you are ready.”
That was exactly what I did.
For three weeks, I lived in the same house with Georgi and pretended nothing had changed.
I made his coffee.
Cooked dinner.
Asked how his day had gone.
He lied.
Every day.
Sometimes so effortlessly that I wondered whether I had ever truly known the man I married.
“I’ll be late. I have a meeting.”
“Okay.”
“I need to go into the office Saturday.”
“I understand.”
“Milena? Which Milena? She’s just a colleague.”
“Of course.”
He didn’t know I already had answers.
