The Truth Hidden Beneath Our Bed

Ellen POV:

I woke up the next morning feeling like a zombie. The sleepless night left me tired, but my resolve was stronger than ever. I moved through my morning routine with mechanical precision. I prepared breakfast for Cameron, packed his lunch, and helped him get ready for school.

"Mom, can we get that new LEGO set this weekend?" Cameron asked, his eyes wide with hope as he munched on his cereal.

I smiled, a thin, forced smile that didn't reach my eyes. "We'll see, sweetie. It's a big one, remember?" My mind immediately flashed to a photo I' d seen on Adrian's burner phone: Angel, his other son, grinning with a massive, elaborate LEGO castle kit, an expensive limited edition. Adrian' s text: "Anything for my prince!"

"Dad promised me we'd build it together last time he was home," Cameron mumbled, looking down at his bowl. His voice held a familiar tinge of disappointment. Adrian had been "busy."

My heart ached for my son. He craved his father's attention, only to receive excuses and vague promises. "Don't worry, Mom will spend time with you this weekend," I said, forcing warmth into my voice. "We can go to the park, or maybe the library."

After dropping Cameron off, I went to work. My job as an administrative assistant was mundane, but it offered a steady income, a lifeline I now realized was more crucial than ever. I typed reports, answered calls, and sent emails, my efficiency a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside me. My colleagues commented on my quiet demeanor, but I offered a vague "just tired" and returned to my tasks.

That evening, Adrian returned home at his usual time. He walked in, tossed his keys on the table, and went straight for his phone. He barely acknowledged Cameron, who was excitedly recounting a school soccer game.

"That's nice, son," Adrian said, his eyes glued to his screen, a distant smile playing on his lips. I watched him. He was texting on his main phone, but I knew the burner phone was still under the mattress. It was a constant, burning presence in my mind.

At dinner, Cameron chattered about his day. Adrian occasionally looked up, offering perfunctory remarks. I tried to engage Adrian. "How was your big project today, Adrian? You mentioned it was coming along well."

He waved his hand. "Oh, you know, typical construction stuff. Minor delays, nothing major." He offered no details. He never did.

"Could we plan a family trip soon?" I asked, pushing. "Cameron would love to go to the lake again. It's been years."

Adrian sighed, putting his phone down. "Ellen, we talked about this. My work schedule is insane. Plus, money's tight. I have to go out of town again next week for an urgent site visit. Austin, for a few days."

Austin. The city where his other life flourished. A bitter taste filled my mouth. He had been "out of town" countless times over the past eight years. Each "site visit" a lie, a carefully constructed alibi for his double life. He always mentioned Austin. It made sense now.

After Cameron went to bed, Adrian settled in front of the TV, flipping channels. I excused myself. "I'm going to take a long shower."

I locked the bathroom door. I turned on the shower, letting the water run, creating a curtain of sound. I pulled out my mobile phone. I logged into our shared family account, the one Adrian rarely used, but where I still had access to old flight and hotel bookings. I scrolled through years of Adrian's "business trips." Austin, Texas. Again and again. Always Austin.

I then pulled out Adrian's burner phone. I navigated to the banking app. It was linked to a separate account, one I knew nothing about. My hands tensed. I clicked on the transaction history.

The numbers swam before my eyes. Monthly transfers for "household expenses" to Jasmine Simon. Thousands of dollars, consistently. A car payment for a luxury SUV. And then, a single, enormous transaction. A down payment. $240,000. For a house. The address matched the property I had seen in the photos. The total mortgage was over a million dollars.

I gasped, a small, choked sound that was lost in the shower's roar. A $1.2 million house. A luxury SUV. Regular, lavish "household expenses." He had told me, for ten years, that we couldn't afford a modest family home in Cleveland. That we couldn't afford Cameron's swimming lessons, or my mother's hospital bills when she had a minor surgery last year.

My mother's surgery. Adrian had refused to contribute more than a token amount, citing "unexpected expenses" for his job. "We have to be responsible, Ellen," he had lectured. That same month, I saw a transfer of $10,000 to Jasmine, labeled "Angel's school fund."

Cameron's swimming lessons. Two years ago, Cameron desperately wanted to learn. Adrian had scoffed. "Waste of money, Ellen. He can learn from videos." That same week, a payment of $800 for "Angel's private swimming lessons" appeared in Jasmine's account.

I sank to the floor, the cold tiles a stark contrast to the burning rage inside me. My entire married life, a fabrication. His "frugality" was a weapon, used exclusively against me and our son. His "modest income" was a smokescreen for a lavish double life. I wasn't his wife; I was his financial shield, his cover story, his forgotten obligation.

I looked at my reflection in the steamed mirror. My eyes were red-rimmed and tired. My hair was pulled back carelessly. I wore old, faded sweatpants. Adrian always commented on my lack of effort. "You used to care about how you looked, Ellen," he would say, his tone critical. "It' s not good for morale." He never bought me new clothes. He criticized me for spending money on myself. I internalised his contempt. I stopped trying.

A slow, cold smile spread across my face. Adrian Benjamin, you underestimated me. You thought I was a naive, quiet wife. You thought I would never uncover your carefully constructed web of lies. You made me look like an oblivious fool. Now, I will make you pay for every single lie.