Jane had not planned to follow Carrick that evening. It began as a small doubt—an unanswered call, a hurried message that felt rehearsed. Carrick had said he was meeting a client, but the way he avoided her eyes planted something sharp and restless in her chest.
The restaurant was dim and elegant, the kind of place Carrick only chose when he wanted to impress. Jane stood frozen just inside the entrance, her heart pounding as she spotted him near the window. He wasn't alone.
The woman across from him laughed softly, leaning in as if she belonged there. Carrick's hand rested casually on hers, familiar, unashamed. Jane watched him smile—a smile she hadn't seen in months.
The world seemed to tilt.
Jane stepped forward before fear could stop her. Her shoes echoed against the polished floor, and Carrick looked up. For a brief second, surprise crossed his face. Then it vanished, replaced by irritation.
"Jane," he said flatly. "What are you doing here?"
She glanced at the woman, then back at him. "I think that's my question."
The woman's eyes widened. Carrick didn't pull his hand away. He didn't apologize. Instead, he exhaled as if Jane were an inconvenience that had arrived too early.
"This isn't what it looks like," the woman began, but Carrick cut her off with a wave.
"Don't," he said. Then he looked at Jane, his expression hardening. "You weren't supposed to find out like this."
Jane waited—waited for guilt, for shame, for anything that resembled regret. None came.
"So it's true," she said quietly. "You're cheating on me."
Carrick leaned back in his chair. "If you want to call it that."
Something in Jane broke, but her voice stayed steady. "We've been together for four years."
"And four years of what?" Carrick snapped. "You sitting at home? Waiting for me? Asking me for money every time you need something?"
The words hit harder than the betrayal.
"I supported you," Jane said. "I gave up my job when you asked me to. You said—"
"I said a lot of things," he interrupted. "That was before I realized you'd turn into a liability."
The woman at the table shifted uncomfortably. Jane barely noticed her anymore.
"A liability?" Jane repeated.
"Yes," Carrick said coldly. "You're idle. Jobless. You contribute nothing. All you do is depend on me and drain my resources. Do you know how exhausting that is?"
Jane felt heat rush to her face. "I trusted you."
"That was your mistake," he replied without hesitation.
Silence stretched between them. The restaurant noise faded, replaced by the sound of Jane's own breathing. She realized then that Carrick wasn't sorry. Not for the affair. Not for the insults. Not for the years she had given him.
The woman stood up. "Carrick, maybe we should—"
"No," he said, still looking at Jane. "She needed to hear this."
Jane straightened. Her hands trembled, but she refused to cry—not here, not in front of him.
"You think I'm nothing," she said.
"I think you're holding me back," Carrick answered.
Jane nodded slowly. The truth hurt, but it also cleared something inside her. She turned and walked out, each step heavy yet certain.
Behind her, Carrick didn't call her name.
Outside, the night air felt sharp against her skin. Jane stood alone on the sidewalk, heart shattered, dignity bruised—but alive to a realization she had ignored for too long.
Carrick hadn't just cheated.
He had already left her long before tonight.
And for the first time, Jane understood that losing him might not be the end of her story—but the beginning.
Jane returned to the house she once called home long after midnight. The silence felt heavier than Carrick's insults. Every room reminded her of promises that had rotted quietly over time.
On the dining table lay the divorce papers Carrick had prepared long before she discovered the truth. He hadn't chased her. He hadn't begged. He had already decided.
Jane picked up the pen. Her hands shook, but she signed her name anyway.
That chapter of her life ended with ink and silence.
She packed only what she needed—clothes, documents, a few books, and the framed photograph she had kept hidden at the bottom of a drawer. It was a picture of Michael, the man who had adopted her when she was young, smiling proudly with his arm around her shoulders.
Michael had been gone for years, but his absence still felt louder than anyone else's presence.
With nowhere else to go, Jane took a taxi to the only place she thought might offer comfort—her stepmother's house.
Stephanie opened the door, her eyes scanning Jane from head to toe. Jane hadn't even finished speaking before laughter burst from her stepmother's lips.
"You?" Stephanie laughed loudly. "You came here for sympathy?"
Jane froze. "I just… Carrick cheated on me. I'm getting divorced."
Stephanie laughed harder, leaning against the doorframe as if Jane had told her a joke. Her children appeared behind her—two daughters and a son—curious, then amused.
"The perfect Jane?" one of them scoffed. "Abandoned already?"
Another laughed. "So much for being better than everyone else."
Their laughter echoed in Jane's ears, sharp and merciless.
Stephanie wiped imaginary tears from her eyes. "Oh Jane, this is priceless. After all those years Michael treated you like gold, look at you now."
The name still hurt.
Michael had adopted Jane when she was young, bringing her into a home that never truly wanted her. Yet he had loved her deeply—more than his biological children. Not out of favoritism, but because Jane was kind, humble, intelligent, and gentle in ways that couldn't be taught.
That love had planted resentment.
Stephanie never forgave her for it.
"You think you're special," Stephanie continued coldly. "Michael spoiled you, praised you, made my children feel invisible. And now?" She smiled cruelly. "Life has finally corrected that mistake."
Jane's chest tightened. "I just needed somewhere to stay."
Stephanie's laughter stopped abruptly. "This is not your home. It never was."
Her children laughed again, mocking, whispering cruel remarks without shame.
Jane nodded slowly. Something inside her hardened—not with anger, but clarity.
She turned away without another word.
As the door slammed shut behind her, Jane stood on the porch, the night air wrapping around her like a bitter truth. She had lost a husband. She had lost a family. And the people she hoped might catch her fall were the very ones waiting to see her break.
But as she stepped off the porch and walked into the darkness, one thought stayed with her:
Michael had believed in her.
And she would not let that belief die with him.