Mitchell had married Natalie in a quick courthouse ceremony two months after Ashley was born. They moved into a bigger house across town—the kind with a three-car garage and a pool that he’d always told me we couldn’t afford. Catherine made sure everyone knew that Mitchell had “escaped a terrible situation” and that “poor Natalie” had graciously stepped in to heal his broken heart.
The town had picked sides, and money talks louder than truth. Most had chosen his.
Then Mia brought me the first piece of ammunition I needed.
“You need to see this,” she said one rainy Tuesday, setting her laptop on my scarred kitchen table. “I’ve been doing some digging. Natalie blocked you, but she forgot about my finsta account.”
It was Natalie’s social media. Photos of Natalie and Mitchell together—at dinner, on weekend trips, at the beach.
“Look at the timestamps,” Mia pointed a manicured nail at the screen.
There it was. A photo of them kissing under mistletoe. Caption: Enjoying the holidays with my love.
Date: December 24th. 11:47 P.M.
“Christmas Eve,” I whispered. “The same Christmas Eve Mitchell told me he was working late at the office inventory. The same night he came home smelling like perfume and swore it was from a hug at his coworker’s goodbye party.”
“Eleven months ago,” Mia said. “Two months before you got pregnant. They aren’t even trying to hide the timeline anymore. She’s been documenting their entire affair.”
I stared at the photos until they burned into my retinas. Mitchell’s hands on her waist. The way he looked at her—like she was the prize he had already won.
“I need copies,” I said, my voice flat. “Of everything.”
The second piece of ammunition fell into my lap by sheer, twisted luck.
I was at the grocery store with Ashley, trying to buy formula and avoiding eye contact with people I used to call friends. I turned down the cleaning aisle and froze. Catherine was there, talking to her friend Helen.
I ducked behind a display of paper towels, my heart hammering.
