He Lied About Abroad, I Found His Local Family

Chapter 3 I Prepared Myself

That night, after settling Martha and Zara into bed, I locked myself inside the bedroom.

Then I opened my laptop and began organizing every document that could prove our marriage and shared assets, including our marriage certificate, bank statements, apartment lease, Martha's medical expenses, and Zara's tuition records. One by one, I scanned, printed, sorted, and backed up every single file.

The private investigator worked quickly. By noon the next day, preliminary findings had already arrived.

The woman's name was Yasmin Carlisle, twenty-eight years old, born and raised locally, currently working as an office administrator. She and Miles met at an industry conference around a year ago and officially started dating three months later.

Five months ago, she became pregnant. She was now on maternity leave.

As for Miles, his so-called overseas assignment had never existed. Over the past year, all those "business trips" had simply taken him to another apartment across the city.

The high-paying foreign assignment he described so proudly was nothing more than a slightly better job at another local company.

And while I exhausted myself taking care of his family, he had quietly built an entirely different life with another woman.

The investigator also noted that Yasmin came from a well-off family. Her parents owned a mid-sized company and initially opposed the relationship.

It wasn't until she became pregnant that they reluctantly agreed to the marriage, insisting on a proper wedding ceremony.

I continued scrolling through the report until one familiar account statement made my breathing stop entirely.

Starting three months ago, money had been transferred out of our joint savings account little by little until the total reached two hundred thousand dollars, every single payment sent directly to a well-known wedding planning company.

And just yesterday, another payment of thirty thousand had been sent with a note attached: final payment for wedding rings.

I closed my eyes slowly as memories came rushing back all at once: the late nights we spent squeezed together in our tiny apartment calculating mortgage payments on scraps of paper, me giving up new clothes to save money while he quit smoking because every dollar mattered, the way we carefully planned Grandma's sunny bedroom and Zara's quiet little study corner, even whispering baby names to each other before falling asleep.

Every sacrifice we made, every dream we shared, every promise about the future we were supposedly building together suddenly felt unbearably cruel. In the end, it turned out I had been the only one who ever believed any of it was real.

I turned off my phone and walked silently into the bathroom. Warm water poured down from the showerhead, soaking my hair and running across my face until I could no longer tell the difference between water and tears.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, at the swollen eyes, exhausted face, and hollow expression staring back at me like a complete stranger.

And suddenly, I started laughing. I laughed until tears streamed down my face all over again.

'Great. Just great. Miles Jensen, you really go all the way, don't you?'

After that day, I behaved exactly as though nothing had happened.

Every morning, I woke up at six to bathe Martha, feed her, and massage her stiff limbs before waking Zara at seven, making breakfast, and walking her to school.

After that came grocery shopping, cleaning, laundry, and preparing lunch, all repeated with mechanical precision day after day.

In the afternoon, I handled freelance copywriting work before picking Zara up from school, helping with homework, preparing dinner, bathing Martha, and putting Zara to bed.

Day after day, my life moved with the precision of a machine that never stopped running.

Zara seemed to notice something different about me occasionally, but children were easily distracted. At dinner on Tuesday, she suddenly looked up excitedly.

"Zoe! My friend's family opened a strawberry farm. They invited me to go strawberry picking this Saturday!"

My fork paused briefly before I calmly placed food into her bowl. "Really? How long are you staying?"

"Her mom said we can barbecue there at night after picking strawberries. I might stay over for one night too." She blinked at me hopefully. "Can I go?"

"Of course," I replied with a smile.

"Don't forget to bring a jacket," I reminded her gently. "It'll get cold tonight."

"Zoe is the best!" Zara lowered her head happily and continued eating, but I still noticed the slight tremble in the fingers wrapped around her spoon.

I stayed silent and continued eating, though deep down, I already understood everything clearly.

There was no strawberry farm, no classmate's birthday trip. It was all just an excuse for her to attend the wedding as the flower girl.

Friday night, Zara happily packed a small suitcase, carefully stuffing in pretty dresses and sparkly hair clips. Yasmin had bought all of them. I had seen Zara trying them on in front of the mirror more than once.

"Have fun," I said softly while helping her zip up the suitcase before pulling her into a hug.

Early Saturday morning, Miles unexpectedly called me. His voice through the phone sounded slightly distorted, though maybe that was simply guilt creeping in.

"Zoe, the project's at a critical stage right now," he said quickly. "I'll be extremely busy these next couple of days, so I probably won't have time to call."

I almost laughed. He was busy getting married while pretending to be busy with work.

"Okay. Take care of yourself." My voice sounded calm enough to surprise even me.

"Right… how are things at home?" he asked after a pause. "Do you have enough money?"

"Yes, I do." I answered briefly.

He fell silent for a second, probably caught off guard by how cold I sounded, but he recovered quickly.

"That's good," he said hurriedly. "When I come back, I'll definitely make it up to you. I have to go now. My boss is calling."

Then the call disconnected.

I sat there holding my phone long after the screen had gone dark.

At ten o'clock that morning, the private investigator sent over the complete wedding information and hotel address.

I put my phone down and quietly began getting ready. From the very back of my closet, I pulled out a cream-colored dress. It was the same dress I wore when Miles and I got married.

Back then, we never held a proper wedding ceremony. He told me we would wait until we bought our own house first, then he would give me the grand wedding I deserved.

Now I finally understood. He probably never intended to give me a wedding at all.

The dress hung loosely against my body now. Over the past year, I had lost far too much weight. After adjusting the waist with a safety pin, I applied light makeup to hide the dark circles and exhaustion on my face.

The woman staring back at me in the mirror slowly regained a little color. But her eyes remained cold as ice.

Before leaving, I went into Martha's room one last time. She was asleep, breathing steadily beneath the blankets.

I quietly placed a letter on the bedside table explaining everything, along with the arrangements I had already made afterward. A professional caregiver would arrive Monday morning to take over Martha's care.

"I'm sorry, Grandma," I whispered softly. "But I can't keep living like this anymore."