My Husband’s Other Women Lived Next DoorChapter 2

My phone lit up the moment the plane touched down in Bayhaven. It was the restaurant manager.

"Mrs. Hale, the housewarming dinner tomorrow has been moved to Miss Grant's residence—is that correct?"

I'd booked that dinner two weeks ago.

On the confirmation sheet, "Ethan & Emma Housewarming Dinner" had been changed to "Claire Grant New Home Celebration."

Same guest list.

Same menu.

"Who changed it?" I asked.

"Mr. Hale."

I canceled the order and got my deposit back.

Less than two minutes later, Ethan called.

"You canceled the dinner?"

"That was my housewarming."

He paused.

"I checked—you've already run off to Bayhaven. Claire just moved some new furniture in, so I let her use the booking. What's the difference?"

"The name changed. The food and the people didn't."

My voice went cold.

"That was the first time I was going to have friends over to our home."

He sounded exasperated. "We all live in the same building. Any floor is home. Come back and I'll throw you another one."

I hung up and told my friends the dinner was off.

A short while later, the interior designer posted an update on social media.

The layout was unmistakable—Ethan's apartment building.

The caption read:

"Miss Grant's residence, completed as originally planned. Thank you to Mr. Hale for overseeing every detail."

I tapped through the photos.

On one of the design drawings, a few lines of handwriting jumped out at me.

"Plant flowers on the balcony."

"Get a cat after we move in."

"Go grocery shopping together on weekends."

"When we have kids someday, save the south-facing room for them."

These were the plans Ethan and I had written together six years ago, when we were still living in a rental.

In the final walkthrough photos, the flower bed, the cat tower, and the south-facing room were all set up and ready.

The life he'd promised to build with me six years ago.

It had come true—in Claire's apartment.

I'd barely closed the post when the hotel front desk called.

"Ms. Reed, Mr. Hale has extended your stay by fifteen days and upgraded you to an ocean-view suite."

A staff member arrived shortly with a new key card and a breakfast order.

Warm milk, oatmeal porridge, delivered to the room at ten every morning.

All my habits. Down to the last detail.

Ethan's messages followed right after.

"You've always wanted to visit Bayhaven, right? Now that you're there, stay a while."

"Don't sleep until noon and then go out on an empty stomach. Your stomach can't handle it."

"I'll be back from my business trip in fifteen days. I'll come get you."

Three years of marriage, and he still remembered all these little things.

I stared at the breakfast card. Then a deduction alert popped up on my banking app.

"Family Travel Account—withdrawal: $86,400."

That account was opened six years ago.

Back then, neither of us made much. I put two thousand in every month. Later, when Ethan started making real money, I offered to close it, but he said, "Keep it. I'll take you somewhere every year."

I opened the transaction details.

The payment had gone to a travel agency.

A fifteen-day itinerary.

Four names listed together.

Ethan Hale.

Claire Grant.

Sophie Lane.

Mia Cole.

Departing for Southport the day after tomorrow, then on to Mason Bay, ending in Westbridge.

So his plan to "come get me after his business trip" really meant: after he finished vacationing with them.

I kept scrolling.

This itinerary. It was the one Ethan and I had mapped out together six years ago.

Back then, he said we'd go when we had money.

Then he said we'd go after we got married.

After the wedding, he told me to wait until the new place was ready.

Last month, when we were packing for the move, he'd even tucked that old travel notebook into his suitcase. He said, "Once we're settled in, we'll go."

Now, every single stop on that route was accounted for.

Only the name beside his had changed. Mine wasn't there.

I sent everything to my lawyer. Then I called the front desk and canceled the extended stay.

"Whatever Mr. Hale arranged for me—don't send it. Just get rid of it."

That afternoon, I received a job offer from a beachfront resort in Bayhaven.

I replied:

"I can start tomorrow."