Chapter 2 - The Files He Never Knew I Kept
By morning, the slap had turned my cheek a deep shade of red.
I covered it with makeup before Eli woke.
I did not want him to see fear on my face.
At breakfast, he asked if Daddy was coming home.
I said I didn't know.
That answer seemed to satisfy him.
Children accepted uncertainty more easily than adults.
Adults spent years pretending uncertainty wasn't terrifying.
At 8:12 a.m., Dominic came through the front door.
He looked exhausted.
His suit was wrinkled.
His expression was somewhere between guilt and frustration.
“Nora.”
I continued pouring coffee.
He stood behind me.
“Can we talk?”
“We're talking.”
“Not like this.”
I turned.
“Did you sleep?”
“No.”
“I did.”
That wasn't true.
But I needed him to think I was calm.
Dominic looked at my cheek.
“I shouldn't have hit you.”
I waited.
He took another step.
“I was protecting Vanessa.”
There it was.
Not I'm sorry.
Not I was wrong.
He still had a reason.
“From what?”
“You poured wine on her.”
“No.”
“I saw it.”
“You saw the last three seconds.”
His jaw tightened.
“She was crying.”
“She grabbed me first.”
“You're making excuses.”
I laughed softly.
“That is exactly what you do.”
He stared at me.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you arrived late, saw what you wanted to see, and punished the wrong person.”
He looked away.
“Where is Eli?”
“Upstairs.”
“I'll take him to school.”
“No.”
“Nora.”
“You missed his school concert last month.”
“I had a meeting.”
“You always have a meeting.”
He looked back at me.
“You're angry because of last night.”
“No.”
I set the coffee cup down.
“I'm angry because last night confirmed what I have known for a long time.”
“What?”
“That you will always choose her.”
He flinched.
“Vanessa is not—”
“Don't.”
I held up a hand.
“I don't need another explanation.”
He stood silently.
Then his phone rang.
Vanessa.
He looked at it.
I looked at him.
He rejected the call.
For the first time in years, he appeared nervous about what I might do.
I almost smiled.
After Dominic left, Maya arrived.
She took one look at me and swore.
“That's awful.”
“I know.”
“You're not going back to him.”
“No.”
She blinked.
“No?”
“No.”
She sat down.
“Say it again.”
“I am leaving.”
Maya smiled.
“Good.”
Then she became serious.
“What did you find?”
I handed her a printout.
She read the first page.
Then the second.
Then the third.
“Holy God.”
“I know.”
She looked at me.
“Does Dominic know you have this?”
“No.”
“Does Vanessa?”
“She saw the flash drive.”
“Then assume they know you have proof.”
I nodded.
Ethan arrived an hour later.
He was younger than I expected.
Thirty-five.
Dark hair.
Plain navy suit.
No dramatic legal briefcase.
He carried a paper folder and a coffee.
He looked at the evidence without interrupting.
After twenty minutes, he said something that changed the entire situation.
“These files are unusually strong.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning whoever stole your work made mistakes.”
I leaned forward.
“Which mistakes?”
“Dates.”
He pointed at one email.
“This was sent four years ago.”
“Yes.”
“The Caruso collection claims the design was created 16 months ago.”
My heart started racing.
“And?”
“Their own public records contradict their ownership claim.”
I exhaled.
He turned another page.
“There's more.”
He had discovered that Caruso's registration application for the collection was filed 14 months ago.
My original sketch had a metadata record from four years earlier.
“Could metadata be challenged?”
“Yes.”
“But?”
“That's why we have the handwritten sketch.”
He pointed to my notebook.
“The ink, paper, and accompanying drafts make your creation history difficult to dispute.”
Then he asked me something unexpected.
“Did you ever show these designs to your husband?”
“Yes.”
“Did he have access to your computer?”
“Yes.”
“Passwords?”
“We shared some.”
Ethan nodded.
“Then we may have an access issue.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the theft may have happened legally enough to make the evidence complicated.”
I stared at him.
“But they stole my work.”
“Yes.”
“Then why isn't it simple?”
“Because in marriage, property gets messy.”
I didn't answer.
Ethan understood.
“That's why we need to identify exactly which assets were created by you personally and which were transferred to company accounts.”
He noticed another document.
“This one.”
The DMB Holdings agreement.
He read it.
Then looked up.
“Did you sign this?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I've never seen it.”
He studied the signature.
“It may be forged.”
My stomach tightened.
“Can you prove it?”
“Eventually.”
He looked at me.
“But Nora, I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
“This is bigger than a stolen dress.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
“No.”
He tapped the agreement.
“This is potentially a corporate asset transfer designed to remove your rights before a divorce.”
I froze.
“They knew?”
“Maybe.”
“Dominic planned to divorce me?”
“Or planned for you not to receive anything valuable if you did.”
That night, Dominic came home early.
He found me in the kitchen.
“You hired a lawyer.”
I looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“Your credit card.”
“I didn't use your card.”
“It was linked to the household account.”
I smiled.
“Then I suppose you can see everything.”
His face hardened.
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing.”
“You're making a mistake.”
“Maybe.”
“You think those designs make you rich?”
“No.”
“What, then?”
“I think they make me free.”
He stared at me.
“Vanessa can make this disappear.”
“I'm sure she can.”
He moved closer.
“I'm trying to protect you.”
I almost laughed.
“You hit me.”
He stopped.
“I know.”
“Then don't use that word again.”
He looked broken for one second.
Only one.
Then his phone buzzed.
He checked it.
Vanessa again.
Dominic walked away to answer.
I watched him.
I noticed the way his voice softened.
The way he turned his back.
The way he said, “Not now.”
Something about that bothered me more than the affair itself.
Because he wasn't ending things.
He was managing them.
Later that night, I opened the hidden files again.
There was one folder I had not examined.
It contained audio recordings.
I didn't remember making them.
Then I realized.
They were automatic backups from video tutorials I had recorded while developing my bridal line.
I opened one.
My own younger voice filled the room.
“The shoulder fold needs to remain exactly here. If it shifts two inches, the silhouette loses balance.”
Then another voice.
Dominic.
“You could sell this.”
My younger self laughed.
“I want to sell myself as a designer, not sell my designs to other people.”
Dominic had answered:
“Of course.”
I closed my eyes.
That was the cruelest part.
I had trusted him because he had sounded sincere.
Maya entered.
“You okay?”
“No.”
She sat beside me.
“What happened?”
I told her.
She held my hand.
“You loved him.”
“Yes.”
“You still do?”
I looked toward the stairs.
“I don't know.”
That night, I slept in Eli's room.
Around 3 a.m., I heard the front door open.
I stayed still.
Footsteps entered the house.
Then Dominic's voice.
“She's asleep.”
A second voice answered.
Vanessa.
“We need the drive.”
My heart stopped.
I slowly reached for my phone.
The hallway floor creaked.
Dominic whispered, “I'll find it.”
Vanessa replied, “You better.”
They walked toward my bedroom.
I understood then.
They weren't coming to apologize.
May you like
They were coming for proof.
And for the first time in five years, I locked my bedroom door before pretending to sleep.
