Tricked for Eight Years, I Ended It

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When I say that, Andrew Steele breathes a sigh of relief and tries to kiss me. I instinctively pull away.

"The main event's tonight, what's the rush? I've already cooked us a feast..."

Before I even finish, his face starts to look off.

I know. He's got plans tonight. He doesn't want to stay with his wife of eight years, and definitely not in this crappy little home.

"Babe... I, uh, I've gotta work late tonight. Gotta earn more for the family, you know?"

What a joke.

Hooking up with your side chick at the Hanley Hotel isn't a job. That kind of money makes me sick.

Before I can say anything, his phone rings. He jerks his hand away from mine and hurries off to take the call.

Claire comes running down from upstairs, trying to play mediator. Says I should let his dad go to work.

Andrew hangs up, hears Claire, and starts yelling at me with a scowl.

"Grace Lynn! Even the kid gets it. I'm busting my ass for this family! You don't even have a job. I'm the one supporting all of us. Talking to you is pointless!"

Ha! Talking to me is pointless, but I bet it all makes perfect sense when you're whispering to your high school sweetheart, Vivian Harper.

Earlier, when I was going through the documents, I actually found two marriage certificates.

One for me and him. One for him and Vivian Harper. And the photo in that one? Totally photoshopped.

Andrew Steele, you hopeless romantic.

I ignore the father-son duo and dump every dish I made straight into the trash.

My phone buzzes. A photo pops up—Vivian Harper's bare back, with a message: "Andrew, Room 2801 at the Hanley Hotel is way bigger than the one eight years ago."

Andrew shoots me a weird look, yanks off his tie, tosses it onto the mess, and storms out. On his way out, he kicks over the sobering soup I spent three hours making.

The door slams behind him. I curl up in the kitchen, tears already streaming down my face.

I met Andrew Steele when we were both delivering takeout in a fancy neighborhood. Back then, he was getting pushed around by a bunch of rich kids.

Looking back, I must've been a joke to him when I stepped in to defend him.

I kept running into him on delivery routes. He said he wanted to date me.

Lately, I've been slowly moving my things out. And I've decided—I'll give my son one last chance to choose. After all, I carried him for ten months and gave birth to him myself.

But the moment I deliver something he forgot at school again, I make up my mind. I'm leaving. Alone.