Chapter 3
I'd spent the night floating around Jessica's apartment like some kind of miserable ghost roommate, watching Mark sleep peacefully with his arm draped over his mistress. Even unconscious, he held her with more tenderness than he'd ever shown me awake.
At exactly 8 AM, Jessica's voice cut through the morning quiet like broken glass.
"Mark, baby, I think I'm getting sick," she whispered, her voice deliberately raspy and weak. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead with dramatic flair that would've made soap opera actresses jealous.
Mark shot upright like someone had fired a starting gun.
"Oh no, sweetheart, you do feel warm," he said, pressing his lips to her forehead with the reverence of a priest blessing communion wine. "Don't you worry about anything today. I'm canceling all my meetings."
Canceling meetings?
I watched him spring into action like some kind of nursemaid superhero.
"Just rest, beautiful. I'm making you my grandmother's special recipe," Mark called from the kitchen, his voice warm with concern I'd never heard directed at me.
Jessica curled up in bed like a delicate flower, periodically calling out weak little "thank you" that made Mark rush back to check her temperature every hour.
When his phone rang with what sounded like an important client, Mark barely glanced at it.
"Johnson, I'm so sorry, but I have a family emergency today. We'll have to reschedule," he said into the phone, stroking Jessica's hair while she pretended to sleep.
Family emergency.
The memory crashed over me like a tsunami I couldn't escape.
Our dining room table set with candles, and Mark's favorite ribeye steak cooling under silver covers. The pregnancy test sitting next to a card that read "Daddy-to-be" in my careful handwriting.
I'd been bouncing on my toes for hours, checking my phone for Mark's return from work. This was it—our moment. The moment our real life together would begin.
Mark walked in at 9:30 PM, already loosening his tie with that distracted expression he wore when clients were demanding.
I called out, "Mark! Honey, sit down. I have the most amazing news—"
His phone buzzed. He looked down and his face brightened.
He said, "Oh, that's Rodriguez. He wants to see the Crawford property tonight. This could be the big one, Lisa."
"But Mark, please, just look—" I held up the pregnancy test with shaking hands.
Mark glanced at it like I'd shown him a grocery receipt. "That's... great, babe. Really. But Rodriguez is talking five million in commission potential. I have to go."
I said, "Tonight? Mark, I made dinner. This is important."
"Lisa, Rodriguez is more important than dinner right now. We need this sale. You want to celebrate? Help me close this deal and we'll have something real to celebrate."
With that, he grabbed his keys without even looking at the steak I'd spent an hour preparing. The candlelight flickered across his retreating back as he headed for the door.
I pleaded, "Mark, please. Just one evening. Just this once, couldn't the business wait?"
He paused at the door, irritation flashing across his face. "Lisa, this is exactly the kind of thinking that keeps us broke. Rodriguez doesn't care about our personal timeline. Money doesn't wait for romantic moments."
The door slammed behind him.
I sat alone at that perfectly set table until the candles burned down to stubs, crying into a steak that tasted like cardboard and dreams that felt just as lifeless.
Back in the present, Mark was hand-feeding Jessica spoonfuls of soup.
"Is the temperature okay?"
"Perfect," Jessica murmured with a grateful smile. "You take such good care of me."
He never made me soup. Not once.
One year ago
I was burning up with a 104-degree fever, my body shaking so hard the whole bed rattled. Rain pounded against our bedroom windows while thunder shook the house.
"Mark," I called weakly from our bed. "Mark, I think I need to go to the hospital. My temperature's really high."
The sound of his video game continued from the living room—gunshots and explosions mixing with the storm outside.
"Mark!" I tried louder, my voice cracking.
Finally, footsteps. He appeared in the doorway looking annoyed, controller still in his hand.
"Lisa, what? I'm in the middle of a ranked match."
I said, "I'm really sick. I think I need to see a doctor."
Mark glanced at me like I was interrupting something important.
"You're not a child, Lisa. You can drive yourself to urgent care if you're that worried."
"I can barely stand up—"
"Then call an Uber. Jesus, Lisa, I'm not your personal chauffeur. You're perfectly capable of handling a little flu."
Then, he went back to his game.
I drove myself to the ER that night, shaking so hard I could barely hold the steering wheel. Sat in that waiting room for four hours, texting Mark updates that he never answered.
Turned out I had pneumonia.
When I got home the next morning with antibiotics and strict bed rest orders, Mark was asleep on the couch, empty beer bottles scattered around him like evidence of his priorities.
He never even asked how I was.
Now Mark was adjusting Jessica's pillows.
"I've rescheduled everything for the rest of the week," he told her, sitting on the bed's edge and stroking her cheek. "Your health is the only thing that matters."
I wanted to scream until the windows shattered.
Evening descended on Austin like a soft blanket, painting Jessica's apartment in shades of gold.
She'd miraculously recovered enough to curl up against Mark on the couch, flipping through a magazine.
"Oh, Mark, look at this," she said, pointing to a jewelry advertisement featuring diamond brooches. "These are gorgeous. Don't you think successful women should have beautiful accessories?"
Mark leaned over to look, his arm tightening around her shoulders. "Absolutely. You deserve beautiful things."
Jessica traced the picture with her finger, a calculating look flickering across her face.
"I bet Lisa had some pretty jewelry, being in real estate so long," she said casually.
Mark's expression shifted slightly. "She had some pieces. There was this diamond brooch her mother gave her—family heirloom kind of thing."
Jessica's eyes lit up with unmistakable greed.
She said, "Oh, that sounds lovely! Where is it now? I'd love to see it. Just to appreciate the craftsmanship, you know."
Mark hesitated for a split second. "It's probably with her mother. Why?"
Jessica snuggled closer, her voice taking on that little-girl quality that made Mark melt.
"I don't know, I just think it's sad when beautiful things sit in jewelry boxes, never being worn."
The casual cruelty of it stole my breath.
Mark's silence stretched just long enough to reveal he was actually considering it.
"So you'll ask her mother about it?" Jessica's voice carried the perfect note of hopeful innocence.
Mark nodded slowly. "I'll... I'll see what I can do."
As they moved toward the bedroom, Jessica's satisfied smile was the last thing I saw before the lights dimmed.
She wasn't just stealing my husband and my business—she was coming for my history, my family, my legacy.
The woman was building herself a complete life using the bones of mine.
And Mark was going to help her do it.