“Why are you paying rent on an apartment downtown?”
“It’s complicated.”
“No.”
I held up the statement.
“It isn’t complicated.”
He looked toward the hallway.
“Mom?”
Margaret appeared behind him.
She saw the papers.
Then she whispered:
“Oh no.”
That was when I knew.
Margaret knew.
Both of them knew.
I stood slowly.
“How long?”
Nathan looked at the floor.
“How long have you been paying for that apartment?”
He said nothing.
I stepped closer.
“How long, Nathan?”
“A year.”
“A year?”
“It isn’t what you think.”
I laughed.
“You don’t even know what I think.”
He looked terrified.
“You’re misunderstanding.”
“Then explain it.”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
I held up another document.
“And what’s this?”
His eyes followed my hand.
It was a transfer confirmation.
A large one.
Made three months earlier.
From our joint account.
To a company I’d never heard of.
Nathan’s face changed.
Margaret stepped forward.
“Sofia, you need to calm down.”
I turned toward her.
“No.”
My voice was quiet.
“I’m done calming down.”
She stopped.
I looked at both of them.
“You shaved my head because you wanted me to quit my job.”
Neither answered.
“You told me I was selfish for working.”
Silence.
“You told me my career was destroying this family.”
Nothing.
Then I held up the bank statement.
“So tell me something.”
I looked directly at Nathan.
“If my career is destroying this family…”
I paused.
“…why has my money been paying for a secret apartment for the last twelve months?”
Nathan looked at his mother.
Margaret looked at him.
And in that single moment, I realized something terrifying.
They weren’t afraid of me discovering the apartment.
They were afraid of me discovering who was living in it.
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I took one step closer.
“Who’s there, Nathan?”
His face went pale.
“Tell me.”
He said nothing.
I looked at Margaret.
“You know.”
She swallowed.
Then, for the first time since I had met her, my mother-in-law looked genuinely frightened.
And that was when I heard a sound from downstairs.
A woman’s voice.
“Hello?”
Everyone froze.
I looked toward the bedroom door.
Margaret’s face lost all its color.
Nathan whispered one word.
“No.”
The woman’s voice came again.
“Nathan?”
I looked at my husband.
Then at his mother.
Then toward the stairs.
And suddenly I understood why they had been so desperate to keep me away from my own finances.
Someone else was living inside the life I thought belonged to me.
And she had just walked into my house.
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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.
