I spent the entire day purchasing luxury gifts for my mistress. When I returned home that night, my wife, my newborn daughter, and every sign of the life we had built together were gone. The only thing left was a manila envelope—and what I found inside shattered everything I believed I still owned.

“Can I just know if Isabella is safe?” I asked.

“Your daughter is safe,” the attorney said.

I sat down at the kitchen table, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders.

“Mrs. Hall has filed for a temporary order,” the attorney continued. “And until the court date, all communication must go through counsel. You are not to contact her family, friends, or employer, or attempt to locate her residence.”

“I am her husband,” I protested.

“You are also the respondent in a custody and divorce proceeding,” she said, her voice remaining icy.

“I want to see my daughter,” I insisted.

“That will be addressed in court,” she said. “And you will receive formal notice soon.”

“Can you tell Sophie I am sorry?” I whispered, and there was a pause before she spoke.

“I can relay messages relevant to legal matters,” she said, and then she continued. “Mr. Hall, I am going to speak plainly. Do not make this worse by trying to find her, as your wife has documented everything carefully, and the court will not respond well to intimidation or emotional pressure.”

“I would never hurt her,” I promised.

“Intent is not the only thing courts consider,” she said, and the call ended.

By noon, Camille showed up at my front door, driving her flashy red convertible. She stepped out wearing high heels and a cream coat, and I did not open the door when she knocked.

“Leighton, I know you are home,” she called out.

I stayed motionless in the living room, but she kept knocking until I finally opened the door. Her eyes moved past me into the empty house, and she smirked.

“Wow,” she said. “She really did clean you out.”

“Leave,” I said, my voice heavy with exhaustion.

“Excuse me?” she said, her eyebrows lifting.

“I said leave,” I repeated.

She took off her sunglasses, looking at me with disbelief.

“You do not mean that,” she said.

“I do,” I said. “And you need to go.”

“You are just upset,” she said, trying to reach for my hand.

“I am,” I agreed.

“So do not take it out on me,” she said, and I laughed.

“Who else should I take it out on?” I asked.

“Her,” Camille snapped. “She took your child.”

“She took Isabella somewhere safe,” I said.

“Safe from what? From you?” she asked, and I did not answer.

Camille stepped closer, her voice dropping.

“Leighton, look at me,” she said. “She is just punishing you, and this is an opportunity for us to stop hiding.”

I looked at her hand on my arm, and I saw the gold bracelet I had bought for her, the perfect nails, and the life I had built on lies.

“I do not want this,” I said.

“What?” she asked, her mouth opening slightly.

“I do not want us,” I said.

“You are just panicking,” she insisted.

“No, I am finally not,” I said, and I had never seen Camille speechless before.

Her face hardened into something sharp and unfamiliar as she glared at me.

“You think you can just end this?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“You think you can use me for months, tell me you love me, and then throw me away because your wife embarrassed you?” she yelled.

“I lied to you too,” I said quietly.

She stared at me, uncomprehending.

“I lied when I said I would leave Sophie, and I lied when I said our life would be better,” I said, and she called me a coward.

“Yes, I am,” I said, and the admission seemed to frustrate her more than any denial.

“You are going to regret this,” she threatened.

“I already regret everything,” I said.

“No, not everything,” she whispered, and then she smiled.

It was a small, cruel, and almost pleased smile.

“There are things Sophie does not know,” she said, and she slipped her sunglasses back on before turning to walk away.

I watched her drive off, then ran to my laptop, but my inbox was empty. I refreshed it again and again until a new message appeared from Camille, containing only a video file. I hesitated, but my curiosity won, and I clicked on it. It opened in a hotel room, dark and dim, and I saw myself on the screen, drunk and speaking to the camera with my shirt half unbuttoned.

“I am telling you,” video me slurred. “Once the baby is older, I will make it happen.”

“Make what happen?” Camille’s voice asked from behind the camera.

“I will leave.”

“You promise?”

“For me?”

“For you.”

I watched myself laugh, and then Camille asked about Sophie, and I shrugged.

“She will be fine because she is stronger than she looks.”

“And the baby?”