PART 3 — THE WOMAN DOWNSTAIRS

 THE WOMAN IN MY HOUSE

“Nathan?”

The woman’s voice floated up the staircase again.

“Nathan, are you here?”

I stood completely still.

My husband looked like someone had just pulled the floor out from underneath him.

Margaret had one hand pressed against her chest.

Neither of them moved.

I looked from one face to the other.

Then I started walking toward the bedroom door.

“Sofia, wait.”

Nathan grabbed my wrist.

I pulled away.

“Don’t touch me.”

“But—”

“Who is downstairs?”

He swallowed.

“I can explain.”

“Then explain.”

“She wasn’t supposed to come here.”

That sentence was enough.

I walked into the hallway.

Nathan followed me.

“Sofia, please.”

I continued toward the stairs.

Margaret rushed ahead of me.

“Let me handle this.”

I stopped.

“No.”

She turned.

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

I walked past her.

One step.

Then another.

My bare feet touched the cold wooden stairs.

The woman’s voice came again.

“Nathan?”

I reached the bottom.

And there she was.

A young woman standing in my living room.

She was holding a small overnight bag.

She looked nervous.

She couldn’t have been more than thirty.

Her dark hair was pulled into a loose ponytail.

She wore a cream-colored sweater and jeans.

When she saw me, she froze.

Her eyes moved over my shaved head.

Then toward Nathan.

Then back to me.

“Oh.”

That was all she said.

Oh.

I almost laughed.

I looked at Nathan.

“Who is she?”

He didn’t answer.

The woman looked confused.

“Who are you?”

I stared at her.

“This is my house.”

Her eyes widened.

She looked at Nathan.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“Tell you what?” I asked.

Nathan stepped between us.

“Sofia, please.”

I moved around him.

“Who is she?”

The woman tightened her grip on the overnight bag.

“My name is Rachel.”

Rachel.

I repeated the name silently.

I had heard it before.

Not from Nathan.

From his phone.

Months ago.

A name that occasionally appeared on his screen.

A name he always dismissed as “someone from work.”

I looked at him.

“Rachel from work?”

His face turned pale.

Rachel looked at him.

“You told me she knew.”

My heart stopped.

“Knew what?”

Rachel’s mouth opened.

Nathan shook his head quickly.

“Rachel, stop.”

She looked confused.

“You said your wife knew you were helping me.”

I stared at Nathan.

“Helping her?”

Rachel nodded.

“With the apartment.”

Everything around me seemed to go silent.

The apartment.

The secret apartment.

The one Nathan had been paying for with my money.

The one Margaret had known about.

I looked at Rachel.

“You live there?”

She hesitated.

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Almost a year.”

I turned toward Nathan.

He closed his eyes.

I laughed once.

It wasn’t a happy laugh.

It was the sound of disbelief.

Almost a year.

A whole year.

While I had been working late.

While I had been paying the mortgage.

While I had been buying groceries.

While I had been sitting beside him at dinner listening to him complain about money.

He had been paying for another woman’s apartment.

I looked at Rachel again.

“Are you his girlfriend?”

Her eyes widened.

“No.”

Nathan immediately said:

“No.”

They answered at exactly the same time.

That somehow made it worse.

I crossed my arms.

“Then what are you?”

Rachel looked at Nathan.

He wouldn’t look at her.

Finally she whispered:

“I thought he was leaving you.”

The words hit me harder than I expected.

Nathan stepped forward.

“That’s not true.”

Rachel’s face hardened.

“You told me that your marriage was over.”

“I said we were having problems.”

“You said you were going to divorce her.”

“I never said that.”

“You did.”

Margaret suddenly spoke.

“Rachel, you need to leave.”

Rachel turned toward her.

“You knew too?”

Margaret went silent.

Rachel looked at me.

“I didn’t know he was still pretending everything was normal.”

I felt something cold move through my chest.

“Pretending?”

Rachel nodded.

“He told me you were only staying together because of financial arrangements.”

I looked at Nathan.

“What financial arrangements?”

He said nothing.

I stepped closer.

“What did you tell her?”

“I was angry.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“I was frustrated.”

“You told another woman you were going to divorce me.”

“I never planned to—”

“Never planned to what?”

He stopped.

I waited.

He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Rachel wiped her eyes.

“I believed him.”

I looked at her.

For the first time, I felt something other than anger.

Pity.

She had been lied to too.

Maybe not in the same way.

But she had been lied to.

I looked at Margaret.

“And you?”

She shook her head.

“Sofia, please listen.”

“No.”

“You’re misunderstanding the situation.”

“What exactly am I misunderstanding?”

Margaret stepped forward.

“Rachel needed somewhere to stay.”

“So Nathan rented her an apartment?”

“Yes.”

“With my money?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?”

Margaret didn’t answer.

I looked at Nathan.

“How much?”

He frowned.

“What?”

“How much have you spent?”

“Sofia—”

“How much?”

He lowered his voice.

“About thirty thousand.”

My mouth went dry.

“Thirty thousand dollars?”

He nodded.

I stepped backward.

Thirty thousand.

My money.

Our money.

Gone.

And suddenly I remembered something.

A conversation from six months earlier.

Nathan had asked me to postpone replacing my car.

He’d said we needed to save.

I had believed him.

I had driven my aging car another six months.

I had skipped vacations.

I had stopped buying things for myself.

And he had spent thirty thousand dollars on a secret apartment and whatever else was hidden behind it.

I looked at Rachel.

“Why did he say he was paying for it?”

She hesitated.

“He said it was temporary.”

“Temporary for what?”

She looked at Nathan.

He wouldn’t answer.

Then Rachel whispered:

“Until he could get his money back.”

I froze.

“Get what money back?”

Nathan’s face changed.

Margaret immediately said:

“That’s enough.”

But I was already looking at my husband.

“What money?”

He shook his head.

“It’s not your concern.”

I laughed.

“Thirty thousand dollars came out of our household accounts.”

I pointed toward the stairs.

“My name is on the mortgage.”

“My name is on the bills.”

“My salary pays for this house.”

“My money paid for that apartment.”

“And now you’re telling me it’s not my concern?”

Nathan’s voice became defensive.

“You don’t understand what happened.”

“Then explain.”

Silence.

I looked at Rachel.

She looked just as confused.

That was when I realized something.

Maybe Rachel didn’t know the whole story either.

Maybe Nathan had been lying to both of us.

And if that was true…

I needed to find out exactly what he had been hiding.

I walked toward the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”

“To get the bank statements.”

Nathan followed.

I opened my laptop.

Then I pulled up the transfer records.

I turned the screen toward him.

“Show me.”

He stared at the numbers.

“Show me where the money went.”

He remained silent.

Then I saw his hands begin to shake.

And I knew there was more.

Much more.