After His Betrayal, I Found Love in Montana

I trudged up the steps to our front door, exhaustion weighing on my shoulders after a long day at work. All I wanted was to start preparing the special dinner I'd planned—herb-crusted salmon with roasted asparagus and the chocolate soufflé Brandon had been craving. I'd spent my lunch break carefully selecting each ingredient, imagining the look on his face when I served it.

But as I pushed open the door, the aroma that greeted me wasn't the familiar scent of my cooking.

"What's that smell?" I called out, setting down my bag.

Scarlet appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Oh, Eva! You're home. I'm making dinner."

I froze, my eyes darting to the kitchen counter where I'd left my carefully selected groceries this morning. The salmon, the asparagus, even the expensive chocolate I'd splurged on—all gone.

"Where did you get those ingredients?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Brandon gave them to me," Scarlet replied, her expression perfectly innocent. "He said you wouldn't mind."

I felt my stomach twist as I moved toward the kitchen. Sure enough, my grocery bags were empty, the counter space I'd cleared now filled with Scarlet's cooking preparations.

"Those were for a special dinner I was making," I said quietly.

Scarlet's eyes widened with practiced sympathy. "Oh! I had no idea. Brandon just said they were in the fridge and I should use whatever I needed." She gestured to the stove where my salmon was already searing. "I can save some for you?"

"No," I said, the word coming out sharper than intended. "It's fine."

Brandon appeared then, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Scarlet's cooking. "Something smells amazing," he said, not even glancing my way.

"I was going to make dinner," I said, my voice barely audible.

"You're tired," Brandon replied dismissively. "Scarlet offered to cook."

I watched as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, guiding her back to the stove. "This looks incredible," he murmured, his lips close to her ear.

---

After dinner—a meal I barely touched—I cornered Brandon in the living room while Scarlet was putting Emma to bed.

"We need to talk," I said firmly.

Brandon sighed, settling into the armchair. "What is it now, Eva?"

"Now?" The word stung. "I want to discuss boundaries, Brandon. How long is Scarlet staying?"

He frowned, his expression hardening. "As long as she needs to."

"That's not an answer," I pressed. "This is our home. Our life. We can't just—"

"Can't what?" Brandon interrupted, his voice rising slightly. "Help someone who's lost everything? Someone whose husband died serving our country?"

I stared at him, stunned by the accusation in his tone. "That's not what I'm saying."

"Isn't it?" Brandon leaned forward, his eyes searching mine. "Because right now, you're sounding pretty selfish, Eva."

"Selfish?" I echoed, incredulous. "I'm being selfish for asking how long another woman will be living in our bedroom?"

Brandon's jaw tightened. "Scarlet isn't 'another woman.' She's John's widow. And you're being unwelcoming to someone who has nowhere else to go."

I felt like I'd been slapped. The Brandon I married would never speak to me this way, would never make me feel like the villain in my own home.

---

The next morning, I woke early and slipped into what used to be our bedroom, hoping to retrieve some of my things before Scarlet woke up.

But as I quietly opened the drawer where I kept my journals, I froze.

Scarlet was already there, sitting cross-legged on the bed, my leather-bound journal open in her lap.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice tight.

She looked up, not even bothering to close the book. "Just tidying up a bit."

I moved closer, horror washing over me as I realized she wasn't just reading my journal—she was wearing my necklace. The silver pendant Brandon had given me on our first anniversary dangled from her throat.

"That's mine," I said, pointing to the necklace.

Scarlet's hand flew to it, her expression a perfect mask of surprise. "Oh! I had no idea. Brandon said I could borrow whatever I needed."

"Borrow?" I repeated, my voice shaking as I reached for my journal. "This isn't borrowing. This is invasion of privacy."

Scarlet's eyes narrowed slightly, though her voice remained sweet. "Brandon told me to make myself at home," she said, her fingers deliberately caressing the necklace. "I thought that's what friends do."

I snatched the journal from her hands, my heart pounding with anger and violation. As I turned to leave, I caught sight of her smile in the mirror—not the vulnerable widow's smile I'd grown accustomed to, but something cold and triumphant.

And in that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that Scarlet Anderson had no intention of ever leaving my home.