Chapter 3

My outburst was small, a strangled cry. "Who is Tiffany, Leo?"

He looked away, suddenly shifty. "Just... Dad' s friend." He put the headset back on, a clear dismissal.

The world tilted. Dad' s friend. Who lets him do whatever he wants.

I left Leo to his game, a cold dread coiling in my stomach. Tiffany.

Later that night, after Mark had come home, feigning ignorance about the gala incident ( "Oh, bad luck with the card, babe. These things happen." ), I waited until he was asleep.

I picked up his phone. It was unlocked. My fingers trembled as I opened his Venmo app.

The "household" account, the one I funded, the one with "five bucks for his coffee."

Transaction after transaction. To a "Tiffany Evans."

"Rent Support - $2000."

"Shopping Spree - $1500."

"Car Down Payment - BMW - $5000."

My breath hitched. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Gone. My money.

I found her Instagram. Tiffany Evans. A woman in her early twenties, pouting into the camera, draped in new clothes, designer bags. A new leased BMW, its shiny black paint gleaming. In picture after picture, she tagged Mark, with captions like "My amazing man spoils me rotten! #BestBoyfriend #Blessed."

My amazing man.

The phone slipped from my numb fingers and clattered onto the hardwood floor. I sank onto the edge of the bed, the room spinning. The air was thick, unbreathable. Tears I didn' t know I was holding back streamed down my face, hot and silent.

Mark stirred beside me, mumbled something, and rolled over. He smelled faintly of a perfume that wasn' t mine. A sweet, cheap gardenia scent.

The next morning, I confronted him, my voice shaking but low. "Who is Tiffany Evans, Mark?"

He blinked, feigning surprise. "Tiffany? Oh, she' s my cousin' s daughter. My niece. Struggling a bit, you know? Aspiring influencer. I' ve been helping her out. Just a bit of support."

He smiled, that charming, disarming smile that had once made my heart flutter. Now, it made my stomach churn.

"Your niece? The one you bought a BMW for? The one you took on a shopping spree with our money?"

His smile faltered. "Don' t be dramatic, Sarah. It' s not 'our' money when you' re being like this. It' s household funds. I manage them. She needed help."

The gaslighting was so blatant, so insulting. I saw him clearly then, perhaps for the first time. A parasite. A liar.

I didn' t say anything more. I went to work, a hollow shell. My focus was shattered. All I could see were those Venmo transactions, Tiffany' s smiling face, Mark' s casual deceit.

The exhaustion was bone-deep, a weariness that settled into my soul. I had given everything to this man, to this family, and it was all built on a lie.