Part 6
The storm hit at exactly 2:15 p.m.
I was sitting in a quiet cafe down the street from the law firm, watching Lily eat a strawberry tart.
My personal phone—the new one, the one Jason didn't have the number to—buzzed on the table.
It was a notification from my security system app.
Someone was at the front door of my penthouse.
I opened the live video feed.
It was Jason.
His tie was loosened, his hair disheveled. He was sweating, furiously pounding his fist against the reinforced oak door.
He was shouting into the video doorbell.
"Elena! Open the damn door! What did you do? The bank just froze my corporate accounts! My CFO says our primary investor backed out without notice! Elena!"
I watched him through the screen.
There was no anger in my heart.
Just a profound sense of detachment.
This was the man I had slept next to for five years.
This was the man who had promised to cherish me.
Yet, he didn't even know who I actually was.
He had never bothered to look past the quiet, compliant woman he thought he had married.
He thought my silence was weakness.
He thought my patience was submission.
I tapped the microphone icon on the app.
"Jason," I said into the phone.
On the screen, he jumped, spinning around to look directly at the small camera embedded in the wall.
"Elena! Where are you? Where is Lily? What is going on? My mother is having a panic attack, the movers took everything from her living room, and my business is ruined!"
"You're loud, Jason," I said calmly. "You're disturbing the neighbors."
"Disturbing the neighbors? Are you insane? We are ruined! Call your lawyer, tell them it was a mistake! Tell them to put the money back!"
"It wasn't a mistake," I said.
He froze.
The realization began to dawn on him, slow and painful.
May you like
"You..." he stammered. "You did this? How? You don't have that kind of power. You're just... you're just a stay-at-home mom."
"I am a mother," I corrected him. "And last night, you forgot what that means."
