---- Chapter 2 2 A week later, a nasty flu laid me low. Fever, aches, the works. | was confined to bed, miserable. Dan was, of course, "too busy" to care for me. Campaign events. Meetings. Always something more important. Liam, bless him, brought me soup and toast, his brow furrowed with concern. On the second day of my illness, the doorbell rang. Liam answered it. | heard a bright, familiar voice. Maddie. "Oh, hi Liam! | heard Ellie wasn't feeling well. Just wanted to drop off some... get-well goodies." My blood ran cold. The audacity. Liam, ever polite, let her in. She appeared in my bedroom doorway a few minutes later, a picture of blooming health, a basket of organic fruit and artisanal teas in her hands. "Ellie! You poor thing! You look awful." She surveyed my pale face and disheveled hair with an expression that was far from sympathetic. It was... triumphant. She placed the basket on my nightstand. "Dan is so worried about you," she cooed. "He feels terrible he ---- can't be here, but you know how it is. The campaign is relentless." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Actually, there's something else. Something wonderful. I'm pregnant, Ellie." Her eyes gleamed. "Dan's, of course." The room spun. Pregnant. This wasn't just an affair. This was a replacement. A new family in the making. My illness, my misery, seemed to amplify her radiance. She was glowing. And | was fading. The carefully constructed walls around my heart threatened to crumble. But | held on. "Congratulations, Maddie," | managed, my voice raspy. "Dan must be thrilled." Her smile widened. "Oh, he is. We both are. A new beginning, you know?" She didn't stay long. She'd delivered her payload. As she left, she paused in the doorway. "Get well soon, Ellie. We wouldn't want you to miss all the excitement." The door clicked shut behind her. | lay there, shivering, but not from the flu. The game had just escalated. And she thought she was holding all the cards. That evening, Dan finally came home. He poked his head into my room, his expression a careful ---- mask of concern. "Hey. Heard you had a visitor." He carried a small, wilted bouquet of drugstore carnations - his usual offering when he knew he was in the doghouse. "Maddie dropped by. Very thoughtful of her," | said, my voice neutral. "Yeah, she's a good kid," he said, avoiding my eyes. He put the carnations in the empty water glass on my nightstand. They looked as sad as | felt. "So," | said, watching him. "She told me her news. About the baby." Dan flinched, just for a second. Then he recovered, his politician's poise snapping back into place. "Ah. Yes. Well, these things happen." "These things happen?" | repeated, my voice dangerously quiet. "Is that all you have to say, Dan?" He sat on the edge of the bed, not too close. "Look, Ellie, | know this is... a shock. And the timing is terrible, with you being sick." He reached for my hand. | pulled it away. "Maddie seems to think this baby is a bargaining chip," | said. "A way to secure her position. Is she right?" His eyes met mine then, and for a moment, | saw a flicker of something | couldn't decipher. Guilt? Regret? Or just annoyance at being confronted? "Ellie, you're my wife," he said, his voice earnest. "This... situation with Maddie... it's complicated. But it doesn't change ---- what we have. What we've built." Built on lies, | thought. Built on my naivety. "This baby changes everything, Dan," | told him. "You know it does." He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "We'll figure it out, El. | promise. Just... get better. We'll talk when you're feeling stronger." He squeezed my arm, a perfunctory gesture, and then he was gone, retreating to the safety of his study, to his other life. The scent of Maddie's perfume still lingered in the room, a taunting reminder. He wasn't just hypocritical; he was actively trying to gaslight me into accepting an unacceptable reality. And Maddie wasn't just provoking me; she was marking her territory, using an unborn child as her flag. He tried, in his own clumsy way, to make amends. Over the next few days, as | slowly recovered from the flu, Dan was more present. He brought me breakfast in bed - burnt toast and weak coffee, but it was the effort that was supposed to count. He sat with me in the evenings, feigning interest in whatever | was watching on TV, his hand resting lightly on my arm. "We need to talk, Ellie," he said one night, his voice serious. "About us. About Maddie." | waited, my expression carefully neutral. "| messed up," he admitted. "Badly. There's no excuse for what | did. For hurting you." ---- He paused, as if expecting me to absolve him. | said nothing. "Maddie... it was a mistake. A stupid, reckless mistake. But it's over. | ended it." My heart gave a small, involuntary leap. Could it be true? "And the baby?" | asked, my voice flat. He winced. "That's... a complication. But I'll take responsibility. I'll support her, support the child. But it doesn't mean anything for us, Ellie. You and Liam, you're my family. My life." He looked sincere. His eyes, usually so adept at masking his true feelings, seemed to hold a genuine plea For a fleeting moment, | almost believed him. Almost wanted to. The years we'd shared, the life we'd built - it was a powerful bond, hard to sever completely. But then | remembered Maddie's triumphant smile, her confident assertion of "Dan's, of course." | remembered Liam laughing with her, so easily drawn into her orbit. "| need time, Dan," | said. "To think." He nodded, a flicker of relief in his eyes. "Of course. Take all the time you need. I'll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust." His promises, once so comforting, now sounded hollow, rehearsed. He was a politician. He knew how to say the right things. But | knew, with a cold certainty, that it wasn't over with Maddie. He wouldn't - couldn't - just walk away from a ---- woman carrying his child, not when his public image was so carefully curated. His excuses and promises were just more words, more attempts to manage the situation, to keep his two lives from colliding too catastrophically. The charade of the concerned husband lasted less than a week. Dan announced another "urgent out-of-town trip." This time, a "conference with party leaders" in Vermont. He packed his bag with the same practiced efficiency, offered the same cursory kiss. | didn't say a word. | just watched him go. An hour after he left, my phone buzzed. A video message. From Maddie. It was short. Shaky, as if filmed on a phone. Dan, shirtless, asleep in a bed that was clearly not in a hotel room meant for "party leaders." Maddie's hand came into frame, caressing his cheek. She giggled softly. Then the camera panned to her face. She winked, put a finger to her lips in a shushing gesture, and blew a kiss. The video ended. The message was clear. He hadn't ended it. He was with her. Now. The rage was a living thing inside me, hot and corrosive. The sheer, brazen cruelty of it. She wasn't just taunting me anymore. She was rubbing my ---- face in it, reveling in her victory. And Dan. My husband. Lying to my face, then crawling into her bed without a second thought. The last vestiges of any hope, any lingering affection | might have harbored for him, died in that moment. There was nothing left but a cold, hard resolve. My plan with "New Life Solutions" was no longer just about revenge. It was about survival. It was about escape from this toxic, suffocating nightmare. The fundraiser was in five days. The countdown had begun. | needed to say goodbye. Not to Dan. He deserved no such courtesy. But to his parents. John and Mary Hayes had always been kind to me, welcoming me into their family with open arms. They adored Liam This would hurt them. | knew that. But it was a necessary casualty. | baked a batch of their favorite lemon scones and a small walnut coffee cake. | drove to their house in the next town, the familiar route now feeling like a journey to a past life. Mary opened the door, her face lighting up when she saw me. "Ellie! What a lovely surprise!" She ushered me into their warm, slightly cluttered living room. John rose from his armchair, smiling. "To what do we owe the pleasure?" he asked, his eyes ---- twinkling. And then | saw her. Maddie. Sitting on their sofa, a teacup in her hand, looking perfectly at home. She was chatting animatedly with Mary, who was listening with rapt attention Maddie turned, her eyes widening slightly when she saw me. Then, a small, victorious smirk played on her lips. "Ellie! Hi!" she chirped, as if we were the best of friends. Mary beamed. "Maddie was just telling us the most wonderful news! Dan is going to be a father again! Isn't it marvelous?" John nodded, though his smile seemed a little strained. "A bit of a surprise, of course, but a blessing nonetheless." | stood there, the basket of baked goods suddenly feeling heavy in my hands They knew. Dan had told them. Or Maddie had. And they had welcomed her. Embraced her. Celebrated her. The woman who was destroying their son's marriage, their grandson's family. The betrayal was staggering. It cut deeper than Dan's infidelity, deeper than Maddie's taunts. These people, whom | had considered family, were complicit. They had chosen. And they hadn't chosen me. "That's... lovely," | managed, my voice tight. "I just, um, | brought you some scones." ---- | placed the basket on the coffee table, my hands trembling. Mary fussed over it. "Oh, Ellie, you shouldn't have! Your scones are the best." Maddie watched me, her eyes glinting with triumph. | couldn't stay. | couldn't breathe. "| have to go," | said abruptly. "Just wanted to drop these off." "So soon?" Mary asked, surprised. | mumbled an excuse and fled, the sound of their polite goodbyes echoing behind me. The carefully constructed image of the warm, loving Hayes family shattered into a million pieces. There was no one left to trust. No one left to mourn. Except Liam. That night, | couldn't sleep. The image of Maddie, so comfortable in John and Mary's living room, burned in my mind. The ease with which they had accepted her, discarded me. The pain was a raw, open wound. | got out of bed, went to my desk, and pulled out a new leather-bound journal. The one Shae from New Life Solutions had suggested | keep. "For verisimilitude," she'd said. "In case anyone looks." | began to write. Not about my plan. Not about the accident. But about the pain. The betrayal. The slow, agonizing death of my marriage. ---- | wrote about Dan's lies, his affairs, the constant gaslighting. | wrote about Maddie, her taunts, her pregnancy. | wrote about his parents, their casual cruelty. | poured all my hurt, my anger, my despair onto the pages. Each word was a tear, a scream, a lament for the life | had lost. | wrote until my hand ached, until the sky began to lighten outside my window. This journal would be my testament. My truth. When they found it, after | was "gone," they would know. Dan would know. The world would know. The "accident" was scheduled for tomorrow night. The night of Dan's big fundraiser. | called Shae. "It's time," | said. "Everything is in place, Mrs. Hayes," her calm voice replied. "The vehicle, the 'passenger,' the location. We'll contact you with the final confirmation and your extraction details tomorrow afternoon." There was no turning back now. The next morning, | woke Liam early. "I'm going away for a little while, sweetie," | said, my voice surprisingly steady. He looked alarmed. "Going away? Where? For how long?" "Just a trip. To clear my head. | need some time." | hugged him tightly, memorizing the feel of his bony ---- shoulders, the scent of his hair. "You'll stay with Dad. Be good for him, okay?" His eyes were wide, confused. "But... why now? Is everything okay, Mom?" "Everything will be fine," | lied, my heart aching. "I love you more than anything in this world, Liam. Never forget that." | handed him a thick envelope. "What's this?" "Just some things. For you. And for your father." Inside was a letter for Liam, full of love and reassurances that none of this was his fault. And for Dan? A signed, notarized divorce petition. All assets to be split, but | wanted nothing from him, only my freedom. My half of the bakery proceeds, already secured in an offshore account, was all | needed. And my wedding ring. | had already sold the bakery to Bren, the papers signed, the money transferred. She knew bits of the plan, enough to help, not enough to be implicated. She would look after Liam from afar, ensure he was okay. This was the hardest part. Leaving Liam. Entrusting him to a man who had proven himself unworthy of any trust. But it was the only way. To protect him, in the long run, | had to do this. He couldn't grow up in that toxic environment, watching his father live a double life, watching me slowly fade away. ---- My heart was breaking, but my resolve was firm. This was the last goodbye. As | was preparing to leave the house for the "final act," my phone pinged. A message from Maddie. A selfie. Her, with Dan, both dressed up. Him in a tuxedo, her in a glittering evening gown. They were at a pre-fundraiser reception. Caption: "Almost showtime! So proud of my amazing man. Big things coming! " The baby emoji. The heart. She was relentless. Even now. It was the final push | needed. Any lingering hesitation, any flicker of doubt, vanished. | picked up my burner phone, the one Shae had provided. | dialed her number. "It's Ellie Hayes," | said. "We're a go, Mrs. Hayes," Shae's voice came back, crisp and professional. "The decoy vehicle is in position. Your extraction point is confirmed. Traffic on his route is as predicted - moderate, but he'll be rushing." She gave me the final instructions, the timing, the sequence of events. It was all meticulously planned. A dark, winding back road. A blind curve. The mannequin, "Ellie," slumped in the driver's seat of a car ---- that looked just like mine, stalled at the worst possible spot. Dan, late for his own fundraiser, distracted by his phone, his ambition, his lies. A terrible, tragic accident. | took a deep breath. This was it. My old life was about to end. My new one, whatever it might be, was about to begin. Or so New Life Solutions promised. The fundraiser was at the town's grandest hotel, the Ashton. Dan was the keynote speaker. His moment. Security was tight, but Shae's people were professionals. They had a "colleague" inside, someone from the hotel staff. They chose the moment perfectly. Dan was on stage, mid-speech, basking in the applause, the admiration Suddenly, a commotion at the back of the ballroom. Shouts. Gasps. Two paramedics rushed in, pushing a gurney. On it, a figure covered by a white sheet. The room fell silent. The paramedics stopped at the foot of the stage, looking up at Dan. One of them spoke, his voice grave. "Mr. Hayes? There's been an accident. Your wife... Ellie Hayes... she didn't make it." Oh, Shae, you were a theatrical genius. This wasn't part of my script. This was an improv, and a cruel one. My plan was for ---- him to hit the mannequin. Not for this public reveal. The color drained from Dan's face. He stared at the gurney, his mouth agape. "No," he whispered. "No, it can't be." He stumbled down the steps from the stage, his polished composure shattering. He reached the gurney, his hand trembling as he reached for the sheet. One of the paramedics gently pulled it back, just enough to reveal a face. A face that looked like mine. Or rather, a very, very still, pale, and tragically convincing replica of mine. Theatrical makeup, Shae had mentioned. Skillful. Dan let out a sound, a raw, animalistic cry of disbelief and horror. He sank to his knees, his body shaking. "Ellie! No! Ellie!" The carefully orchestrated scene played out. Maddie, somewhere in the crowd, would be watching. Her triumph, perhaps, turning to ash. The room was in chaos. Reporters were scrambling, cameras flashing. My "death" was now a public spectacle. Part of me, the part that still felt, was horrified. The other part, the cold, calculating part, acknowledged the brutal efficiency of it. This was more devastating than | could have planned. He ---- wouldn't just live with guilt; he'd live with public shame and scrutiny. Dan, | heard later from Bren who heard from a caterer, locked himself away for days. He refused to see anyone, refused to speak. The police investigation was swift. A tragic accident. A blind curve, a stalled car. Mrs. Hayes, likely disoriented, perhaps on her phone. No foul play suspected. When he finally emerged, he was a broken man. Or at least, he played the part of one. He found the divorce papers on his desk, my wedding ring lying on top He found the phone I'd left behind. My regular phone. In it, the saved DMs from Maddie, the pictures, the taunts. He saw the "colleague" messages. He saw her provocations. He knew | knew. Everything. The realization that | hadn't died in blissful ignorance, but in full knowledge of his betrayal, seemed to shatter him further. The grief was real, | suppose. Or perhaps it was the grief of being caught, of his perfect world imploding. He would have to live not just with the "fact" that he killed me, but with the knowledge that | knew he was a liar and a cheat before | "died." He read the journal. Every word. Bren told me. Someone on the police force, a distant cousin of hers, had described his reaction when they "found" it. He sat in my favorite armchair, the journal in his hands, and he ---- wept. Not quiet, dignified tears. But harsh, racking sobs. He read about my pain, my loneliness, my growing despair. He read about how his affairs, plural now that the journal hinted at more than just Maddie, had eroded my soul. He read about my feelings of being invisible, a prop in his ambitious life. The journal didn't mention the faked death, of course. It was the genuine outpouring of a woman pushed to the brink. A woman who, in her final entries, sounded increasingly hopeless, lost. A woman capable of making a fatal mistake on a dark road. The narrative was perfect. Too perfect, perhaps, if anyone looked too closely. But grief, and guilt, have a way of clouding judgment. Detective O'Connell, the lead investigator, was sympathetic but by-the-book. He saw a grieving husband, a tragic accident. Case closed, for now Liam was devastated. Confused. Angry. Dan, in his "grief," apparently turned on him. "Why were you so friendly with her?" he'd apparently yelled at Liam one night, referring to Maddie. "Didn't you see what she was? What she was doing to your mother? To us?" Projecting his guilt, his shame, onto our son. Liam, already reeling from my "death," now had to bear the brunt of his father's unraveling. It was cruel. Unforgivable. ---- This was the part of the plan | hadn't fully anticipated. The collateral damage to Liam. Bren assured me she was keeping a close eye on him, through teachers, through friends' parents. She would intervene if things got too bad. But the thought of Liam, alone in that house with that broken, bitter man, was a constant ache in my new, hollow existence. My perfect revenge was tainted by my son's suffering. Dan confronted Maddie. He went to her apartment, the journal in his hand. "You knew," he accused her, his voice raw. "You knew how much she was hurting. And you kept pushing her. Taunting her.' Maddie, apparently, was not contrite. Perhaps she saw her own future, her own baby, as the only thing that mattered. She'd tried to play the victim, the grieving mother-to-be of his child. It didn't work. He showed her the boxes of Liam's childhood things, the heirlooms I'd sent her. The ones she'd presumably laughed off, or hidden away, thinking they were the pathetic gestures of a desperate woman. Now, they were symbols of the life she had helped destroy. The life of the woman he "killed." The new life she offered wasn't so appealing anymore. ---- Maddie apparently screamed at him. Accused him of leading her on, of ruining her life. She reminded him of the baby, his child, her leverage. But Dan, fueled by guilt and a twisted sense of loss, was beyond her manipulations now. He told her it was over. He would support the child, financially, from a distance. But he wanted nothing more to do with her. He pulled his funding from a "joint venture" they'd been planning - some influencer-backed lifestyle brand. Her ticket to bigger things. The stress, the public scandal of being the "other woman" in a tragedy, the loss of Dan's support - it was too much. Maddie miscarried. Bren told me this part with a grim satisfaction that | couldn't quite share. There was no triumph in this. Just a messy, ugly wreckage. Her weapon, her leverage, was gone. Dan's revenge on her was swift and brutal, a pale imitation of the lifetime of guilt | had planned for him. But it was effective. She was left with nothing. Dan's career imploded. The story of the rising political star whose wife died tragically, a wife who had apparently been deeply unhappy, was too good for the tabloids to ignore. Whispers of affairs, of a secret mistress, began to surface. Maddie, bitter and scorned, likely wasn't silent. The carefully crafted image of the devoted family man was ---- shattered. His party distanced themselves. Donors pulled their funding. He became a pariah. The sympathy he'd initially received curdled into suspicion and condemnation. He lost everything. His career. His reputation. His wife. His mistress. His unborn child. He was left with an empty house, a grieving son, and the crushing weight of what he believed he had done. My revenge was complete. Or so it should have felt. But the victory was hollow, tainted by the constant, gnawing worry for Liam. Liam became a ghost in his own school. The whispers followed him. The pitying looks. The cruel taunts from braver, stupider kids. "Your dad killed your mom, you know." "Heard he was screwing around." He withdrew into himself, his artistic spirit dimmed. He stopped talking about his father. He barely spoke at all, Bren said. He spent his time alone, sketching in a worn notebook, the drawings dark, haunted. The bright, curious boy | knew was disappearing, replaced by a sullen, solitary teenager. The guilt | felt over Liam's pain was a heavy burden, a counterweight to the grim satisfaction of Dan's downfall. ---- | had freed myself, but had | condemned my son? Dan took to wandering by the river, the Charles, where we used to walk on crisp autumn afternoons. He'd stand there for hours, staring into the murky water, a gaunt, haunted figure. Bren saw him once, from a distance. She said he looked old. Defeated. He was living the life | had designed for him: a life of public ruin and private torment. He had lost everything he valued, or thought he valued. He was paying. Every single day. | wondered if he ever truly thought about me, Ellie, the woman he had vowed to love and cherish. Or if he only mourned Ellie, the victim, the symbol of his downfall. Did he regret losing me? Or just regret getting caught? The questions echoed in the quiet of my new, anonymous life, far away. The revenge was bitter. And the sweetness was an illusion.