Chapter 5 - MELISSA’S VERSION
I met Melissa in a coffee shop the next afternoon.
Not because I trusted her.
I didn’t.
Not because I forgave her.
I didn’t.
I met her because liars sometimes become useful when they begin lying against each other.
Melissa looked nothing like the woman in Daniel’s photographs.
No expensive coat.
No styled hair.
No lipstick.
She wore jeans, a sweater, and the hollow expression of someone whose private fantasy had collapsed overnight.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” she said.
“Good.”
She swallowed.
“I knew Ryan was married.”
There it was.
No excuse.
No misunderstanding.
“I’m aware.”
“He said your marriage had been over for years.”
“That’s what married men say.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew it then.”
Melissa looked down.
“Yes.”
At least she admitted it.
“What did he tell you about the house?”
“That it belonged to him.”
I said nothing.
“He said you refused to leave.”
“Of the house I bought?”
“I didn’t know.”
“What about the cottage?”
“He said it came from his father.”
I laughed once.
Patricia’s mythology had spread far.
Melissa reached into her purse.
“I brought something.”
She placed her phone on the table.
There were messages from Ryan.
Hundreds.
Many intimate.
Some ordinary.
Some cruel.
One described me as a woman who “thought earning more money made her important.”
Another said I would eventually “take a settlement and disappear.”
Then Melissa opened an audio message.
Ryan’s voice filled the tiny space between us.
“Once the paperwork clears, I can force the issue.”
Melissa’s recorded response asked, “What issue?”
“The house.”
“How?”
“She doesn’t understand the documents she signed.”
My stomach tightened.
“She signed them?”
“Enough of them.”
The audio ended.
I stared at Melissa.
“When was that?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“You knew he was planning something.”
“I thought it was divorce paperwork.”
“You didn’t ask?”
She looked ashamed.
“No.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
That answer caught me off guard.
No defense.
No counterattack.
Just yes.
“What was the ring?”
Melissa closed her eyes.
“He gave it to me yesterday morning.”
“My birthday.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You knew he was married.”
“Yes.”
“He gave another woman an engagement ring while married.”
“I know.”
“My grandmother’s engagement ring.”
Melissa’s eyes opened.
“He told me it belonged to his grandmother.”
Of course he did.
“Did you accept it?”
“For about five minutes.”
She pulled up a photograph.
Ryan holding the ring.
Melissa staring at him.
Then another.
The ring sitting on the table.
“I told him it looked old and asked about it.”
“What did he say?”
“That his mother wanted me to have it.”
That stopped me.
“Patricia?”
“He said Patricia chose it.”
I thought about the motel note.
Melissa continued.
“Then Ryan started talking about us moving into the Rochester house after the divorce.”
“My house.”
“Yes.”
“And you were okay with that?”
Her face tightened.
“I believed you were getting the cottage.”
I leaned back.
Ryan had designed two realities.
In mine, we were married and financially stable.
In Melissa’s, our marriage was already over and property division nearly complete.
In Patricia’s, I was an inconvenient wife occupying her son’s estate.
Ryan had told every woman exactly what she needed to hear.
“Why are you helping me?”
Melissa looked toward the window.
“Because yesterday, after you called him from the cottage, he changed.”
“How?”
“He started screaming.”
I had rarely heard Ryan raise his voice.
“He said you had ruined everything.”
“What everything?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
She rubbed her thumb against the edge of the table.
“Then he told me I needed to sign something saying the money he transferred to me was repayment for a personal loan.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
“What was it?”
“He told me it was money for us to buy a place after our divorces.”
“Your husband didn’t know?”
“No.”
“Did you sign?”
“No.”
That mattered.
Melissa leaned forward.
“Then Ryan asked me to delete our messages.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because by then I realized I might need them.”
For the first time, I understood why Ryan had chosen her.
Melissa was selfish.
But she wasn’t stupid.
I stood.
“We’re done.”
“Olivia.”
I stopped.
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
“There’s always more.”
Melissa lowered her voice.
“Ryan kept saying something about December first.”
“What?”
“He said everything had to be finished before December first.”
“Finished how?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
“He said if the transfer didn’t clear by then, the whole plan fell apart.”
My pulse quickened.
“What plan?”
“I swear I don’t know.”
“Did Patricia ever speak to you?”
Melissa hesitated.
That was answer enough.
“When?”
“Three times.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me to be patient.”
I stared.
“She knew about you.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“At least nine months.”
I felt something inside me become colder.
Melissa continued.
“She said Ryan deserved a wife who appreciated him.”
I laughed.
It came out flat.
“Anything else?”
“She asked whether I wanted children.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“I thought she was being intrusive.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I did.”
Melissa swallowed.
“Then Patricia said something strange.”
“What?”
“She said, ‘Good. Olivia made sure Ryan can never build a real family in that house.’”
I stared at her.
The words made no sense.
Ryan and I had chosen not to have children yet.
At least I believed we had chosen.
Then I remembered something from three years earlier.
A pregnancy.
Eight weeks.
Unexpected.
Terrifying.
Wonderful.
I had miscarried.
Afterward, Ryan insisted we wait.
Then wait longer.
Then indefinitely.
I had eventually stopped asking.
Melissa was watching me.
“What is it?”
I picked up my bag.
“Nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing.
Because when I got home, I pulled my medical records.
And there, buried in the notes from three years earlier, was something I had never noticed.
A message documented by my OB-GYN.
PATIENT’S HUSBAND CALLED ASKING ABOUT PERMANENT CONTRACEPTION OPTIONS.
May you like
I had never authorized Ryan to call.
And according to the date, he made that call two days after I lost our baby.
