I feel it. It has your eyes. I mean, I know it is yours.
Does he have eyes? I asked, raising an eyebrow. That is impressive for a fetus that is supposedly only a few months old.
But Lily, you do not have to lie anymore because we know there is no baby. I reached for the next sheet of paper in the pile. I slammed it down on top of the medical report.
It was the invoice. The print was large and damning. Propbumps.com.
The second trimester illusion silicone. $149.99. I found this in your purse, I said coldly, while you were in my bathroom practicing your waddle.
And this, I laid down the photos, the grainy high contrast images of the silicone ridge peeking out from her waistband, the unnatural smoothness of the skin that didn’t match her own tone. And finally, I said, dropping the last piece of paper, a screenshot I had taken of a notification on her phone when she left it on the table to go to the bathroom during her miscarriage scare. A text to your friend Sarah, I read it aloud, my voice devoid of emotion.
He is so dumb. As soon as she signs the papers and transfers the cash, I am going to stage a miscarriage. I will say it was the stress.
Then we split the money and I went to Cabo. My life is finally starting. Blake made a sound like a wounded animal.
He stood up so abruptly his chair fell backward with a loud crash. He stared at the invoice. He stared at the photo.
He stared at the woman he had destroyed his marriage for. “It is fake,” he choked out, he reached out and before Lily could stop him, he grabbed the front of her pastel dress. “No, don’t touch me.” Lily shrieked, batting his hands away, but he had already made contact.
He felt it. He felt the hard, rubbery resistance of the prosthetic. He recoiled as if he had touched a snake.
“You are wearing a costume,” Blake said, his voice rising to a shout. You are not pregnant. You are just fat and lying.
I did it for us. Lily screamed back, abandoning the act. Her face twisted into a snarl.
We needed the money. You are broke. You are a loser who sells used cars.
How else were we going to get her money? I had to come up with a plan because you are too stupid to think of anything. You ruined my life.
Blake roared. I left my wife for you. I signed away everything because I thought I was being a father.
You ruined your own life. Lily spat. You were the one who slept with me.
You were the one who wanted an ego boost because Eva was too successful for you. They were screaming at each other now, standing in the middle of the fine dining restaurant, hurling insults and accusations while the other patrons stared in shocked silence. The waiter was hurrying over, looking panicked.
I watched them. I watched the two people who had conspired to bleed me dry now tearing each other apart. It was ugly.
It was loud. And it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I cleared my throat.
It wasn’t a loud sound, but it cut through their screaming match. They both stopped, panting, and looked at me. They seemed to remember all at once that I was still the one holding the cards.
“Sit down,” I said. They hesitated, but they sat. Blake pulled his chair back up.
Lily smoothed her dress over the fake bump, looking sullen and cornered. “Here is how this night ends,” I said. I folded my hands on the table.
“I have enough evidence on this table to send you both to jail. This is fraud. This is attempted extortion.
This is a conspiracy to commit theft. If I take this to the police, you go to prison. If I take this to Atlas Bridge, Blake, you will never get a job in this city again.
And Lily, if I show this to Mom and Dad, well, the shock might actually kill Mom, but you will definitely be disowned.” Lily went pale. The fight drained out of her. Eva, please don’t tell Mom.
Please, I do not want to destroy the family, I said. Contrary to popular belief, I am not cruel. I just want to be free.
I pushed the divorce papers toward Blake. I handed him a pen. Sign the papers, I commanded.
Uncontested divorce. You admit to adultery. You wave all rights to my assets.
You wave spousal support. You acknowledge the debt is forgiven in exchange for a clean break. Blake grabbed the pen.
He didn’t even read the text. He signed his name so fast the ink smeared. He pushed the papers back to me, his hands shaking.
“And you,” I said, turning to Lily. You are going to disappear. You are going to go home, pack your things, and you are going to go back to Ohio.
You are going to tell mom and dad that you decided the city wasn’t for you. And in a few weeks, you are going to tell them you had a miscarriage, a natural one. You will not blame me.
You will not blame stress. You will say it just happened. If I hear one word, I continued, my voice hardening.
If I hear that you have asked me for money or used my name to open a credit card or told anyone a sob story about how your mean sister abandoned you, I will release these photos. I will send the invoice to everyone we know. I will make sure the whole world sees the receipt for the rubber stomach you are wearing.
Lily nodded. She was crying now. Real tears this time.
The tears of a con artist who had been outplayed. I promise. I swear, Eva.
I gathered the papers. I checked Blake’s signature. It was valid.
I put everything back into the envelope, the postnup, the medical report, the invoice, the photos. I closed the clasp. I stood up.
One last thing, Lily, I said, looking down at her. She looked small and pathetic in her expensive maternity dress. “If one day you actually do have a child,” I said, my voice quiet but piercing.
“I hope you learn to be a mother because a real mother protects her child. She doesn’t use them as a bargaining chip, and she certainly doesn’t invent them to steal from her sister. Do not teach your future children that love is a transaction.
It is the only lesson I’m going to give you for free.” I picked up my purse. I picked up the envelope. The bill is yours, I said to Blake.
I assume you can’t pay it, but that is not my department anymore. I turned and walked away. Eva, Blake called out.
His voice was desperate, terrified. Eva, wait. How am I supposed to get home?
You took the car. I did not stop. I did not turn around.
I walked past the hostess stand, past the valet who held the door open for me. I stepped out into the biting Chicago night. The air was cold, sharp, and clean.
It smelled of rain and exhaust and wet pavement. I walked to my car, my heels clicking a steady, rhythmic beat on the sidewalk. I unlocked the door and tossed the heavy envelope onto the passenger seat.
It sat there, a pile of paper that used to be the weight of my world. Now just legal trash to be filed away. I started the engine.
The dashboard lit up, glowing warm and bright. I put the car in drive and pulled out into the traffic. As I merged onto the highway, watching the lights of the city streak past me, I took a deep breath.
My chest expanded, filling with air. And for the first time in three weeks, for the first time in 10 years, there was no pressure, there was no weight, I was alone, and I was free.
