Chapter 3 - The Woman in the Other Kitchen
I contacted Vivian the following morning.
It took me twenty minutes to write four sentences.
My name is Nora Mercer. I am Liam’s wife. I believe he has given us different information about his life. If you are willing to speak, I can meet in a public place.
I read it to Elise before sending it.
She nodded.
“No threats. No begging. Good.”
My hands shook anyway.
Vivian replied an hour later.
I know who you are. Liam said you might contact me.
For a moment, I couldn’t move.
Then another message appeared.
He said you’ve been separated for nine months.
I looked down at Hailey asleep in my arms.
Seven weeks old.
Separated for nine months.
I sent one photograph.
Not our daughter’s face.
A picture Elise had taken of Liam and me in the hospital room, his arm around my shoulders, the date visible in the image details.
Then I wrote:
We have never been separated. He slept beside me last night.
Vivian did not answer for eleven minutes.
When she did, the message contained only a location and a time.
We met at a café beside a busy shopping center. Elise stayed with Hailey at my mother’s house.
Vivian arrived without makeup, carrying a large work tote.
She looked less glamorous than her photographs.
Mostly, she looked frightened.
We sat across from each other while a server filled our water glasses.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then Vivian said, “He told me you were living in separate rooms.”
“No.”
“That you were waiting until the house could be sold.”
“No.”
“That the pregnancy happened before you decided to separate.”
I held my glass with both hands.
“We were choosing baby names together while he was telling you that.”
She closed her eyes.
I watched her carefully.
I wanted to hate her. It would have been easier if she had arrived smug, dismissive, or willing to compete.
Instead, she looked like someone watching a wall fall toward her.
“When did it start?” I asked.
“Last October.”
Eight months before Hailey was born.
I counted backward through memories.
The weekend he said his team had a retreat.
The evening he missed an appointment.
The holiday party he claimed spouses couldn’t attend.
“He said the marriage had been over for a long time,” Vivian continued. “He said you refused to acknowledge it.”
“And you believed him.”
“Yes.”
She didn’t add an excuse.
That mattered, though it didn’t make the answer hurt less.
“Did you know about Hailey?”
“Yes.”
My throat tightened.
“What did he tell you about her?”
Vivian looked toward the window.
“That he was doing most of the care. That you were struggling and often went out. That he was trying to protect your privacy.”
I stared at her.
Most of the care.
Liam had never spent an entire night alone with our daughter.
He had missed her first pediatric follow-up because of a client dinner.
Last week, he asked me which cupboard held the bottles.
Vivian took out her phone.
“I’m not showing you this to hurt you.”
She opened a message thread.
There was Hailey, asleep against my chest.
Except the photograph had been cropped so only the baby and a section of blanket remained.
Underneath, Liam had written:
Finally got her settled. Nora’s out again. Third night this week.
I remembered taking that photograph.
It was two in the morning.
Liam had been upstairs sleeping.
I had sent it to him with a heart because Hailey looked so peaceful.
Now I understood why he hated the pictures.
They were useful to him, but they came from a life he resented having to maintain.
Vivian scrolled further.
Messages asking for short-term loans.
Complaints about legal fees.
Stories about paying household expenses because I refused to contribute.
“How much?” I asked.
“Just over eighteen thousand.”
I sat back.
“He’s taking money from you, too.”
Her eyes filled.
“He said it was temporary.”
I took a slow breath.
“There’s a townhouse.”
She nodded.
“He said he rented it so Hailey would have somewhere stable when the separation became official.”
“And the furniture?”
“I ordered some of it. He said he’d reimburse me.”
I thought about the unfinished wall in our bathroom.
The secondhand dresser.
My apologies every time I ordered takeout because I was too exhausted to cook.
Vivian removed a small velvet box from her tote.
She opened it.
An engagement ring.
“He proposed six weeks ago.”
Hailey had been one week old.
That night, Liam told me he was going to the pharmacy.
I had waited an hour for diapers.
When Vivian began crying, I did not reach across the table.
I wasn’t ready to comfort her.
But I gave her Rachel’s contact information so her attorney could coordinate the records if she wanted.
Before we left, she said, “I should have asked more questions.”
May you like
“Yes,” I answered.
Then I went to my mother’s house and held my daughter until she complained about being hugged.
