Chapter 6 - The Other Woman’s Version.
Hearing Elise admit that Lorraine had interviewed her over dinner changed something in me that the affair alone had not.
Infidelity was between Andrew and me, even when another person participated in it.
Lorraine had turned it into a family project.
She had evaluated my replacement while still asking me to drive her to appointments and pick up her prescriptions.
The memory of ordinary errands became almost unbearable.
I remembered her sitting in my passenger seat complaining that I drove too cautiously.
I remembered buying the tea she liked because she said the cheaper brand upset her stomach.
I remembered helping her choose a birthday gift for Andrew while she already knew he was sleeping with Elise.
Those details made the betrayal feel domestic rather than cinematic.
Cruelty had been drinking coffee in my kitchen every morning and asking whether I had remembered to buy milk.
I did not agree to meet Elise.
I agreed to listen for five minutes.
Maya stayed beside me while the call remained on speaker.
Elise sounded younger than I expected.
Not fragile.
Careful.
The kind of careful that comes when someone is trying to decide how much truth will save them.
“Andrew told me the Rochester house was his,” she said.
I looked at the deed on my desk.
“He tells his mother the same thing.”
“He said you were on the paperwork only because your credit was better when you bought it.”
My laugh was short and sharp.
“That’s creative.”
“I didn’t know about your inheritance.”
“You knew he was married.”
Silence.
Maya stared at the phone.
Elise finally said, “Yes.”
“Then don’t confuse being lied to with being innocent.”
“I’m not.”
Her voice hardened slightly.
“I’m trying to tell you he lied to both of us.”
“What do you want?”
“I want out.”
“Then leave.”
“It’s not that simple.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“People keep saying that to me today.”
Elise exhaled.
“The North Carolina contract is in both our names.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Noah.”
Another silence.
This one was longer.
“You talked to my husband.”
“He came to my house with photographs of you kissing mine.”
Elise said nothing.
Maya mouthed, Good.
I continued.
“I also know about Blue Ridge Holdings.”
Elise’s breathing changed.
“And the money.”
“Claire—”
“And the plan to use a home-equity loan against my house for closing funds.”
“That was Andrew’s idea.”
“Your name is on the company.”
“I know.”
“Your name is on the purchase contract.”
“I know.”
“You transferred sixty thousand dollars from your marriage into the company.”
She did not answer.
I waited.
Finally, Elise said, “Andrew told me you had agreed to sell.”
I felt anger rise again.
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said the marriage was essentially over.”
“That part may be true now.”
“He said you had separate lives.”
“We ate dinner together three nights ago.”
“He said you were waiting until after tax season to announce the separation.”
“It’s August.”
“I know.”
Maya covered her mouth to hide a reaction.
Elise continued.
“He said the home-equity money was his share of the property.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I know that now.”
“How?”
“Because he sent me a copy of the deed this morning.”
My spine straightened.
“Why?”
“He was panicking.”
“What did he say?”
“That you found everything.”
I looked at Maya.
“Where is he?”
“With his mother, I think.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he tell you to call me?”
“No.”
“Then why are you calling?”
Her answer came quickly.
“Because I think he forged something in my name too.”
The room went still.
Maya pulled a chair closer.
“What?” I asked.
“The LLC paperwork.”
Elise sounded frightened now.
“I agreed to create Blue Ridge Holdings.”
“I signed the formation documents.”
“But I did not authorize the mortgage preapproval he submitted under the company.”
“How much?”
“Three hundred thousand.”
I closed my eyes.
Andrew had built layers of debt like someone stacking dry wood around a house.
“What did he tell you it was for?”
“He said we needed financing lined up before the North Carolina closing.”
“That is what financing is for.”
“No.”
She hesitated.
“He told me later that the lender might use my rentals as collateral.”
“And you didn’t agree?”
“No.”
“Did you give him your tax returns?”
“Yes.”
“Bank statements?”
“Yes.”
“Social Security number?”
“Yes.”
Maya closed her eyes in frustration.
I almost felt sorry for Elise.
Almost.
Then I remembered the photographs.
Her hand on my husband’s neck.
Her body pressed against him outside a cottage where I had spent summers painting walls and planting herbs.
Compassion did not require forgetting.
“What else?” I asked.
Elise lowered her voice.
“There is a second account.”
“What account?”
“I don’t know the bank.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Andrew showed me a screenshot once.”
“What was in it?”
“About one hundred and eighty thousand dollars.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“Whose money?”
“He said it came from investment profits.”
“Andrew doesn’t have investment profits.”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
I looked at our downloaded statements.
“Did you see the account holder name?”
“No.”
“Did you see an account number?”
“Only the last four digits.”
“Do you remember them?”
She did.
I wrote them down.
Maya leaned over my shoulder.
I searched every account document I had saved.
Nothing matched.
Elise continued.
“There’s something else.”
I nearly laughed.
“Of course there is.”
“Andrew said his mother gave him money after selling her Syracuse house.”
I stopped typing.
Lorraine had told us she still owned the Syracuse house.
It was one of the reasons she claimed she could not afford a permanent apartment near us.
“When did she sell it?”
“Andrew said last year.”
I looked at Maya.
Maya whispered, “Public records.”
I searched the county property database.
Lorraine Parker’s old address appeared.
Transfer date: fourteen months earlier.
Sale price: $287,000.
Buyer: unrelated third party.
I stared at the screen.
For fourteen months, Lorraine had lived in my house while claiming she could not move because her Syracuse property was still tied up.
She had complained about grocery prices while apparently sitting on proceeds from a sale.
My anger shifted shape.
It was no longer only about Andrew.
Lorraine had not simply overstayed.
She had lied to keep access to our home.
“Claire?” Elise said.
“I’m here.”
“I think Lorraine knew about us.”
“I know she did.”
“No.”
Elise’s voice became urgent.
“I mean she knew from the beginning.”
My fingers stopped over the keyboard.
“How?”
“Andrew brought her to dinner with me once.”
I stared at the phone.
“What?”
“It was in March.”
My birthday was in August.
Five months.
“Where?”
“A restaurant in Geneva.”
“What did he introduce you as?”
“A colleague.”
“And she believed that?”
Elise hesitated.
“No.”
“What did Lorraine say?”
“She asked me whether I wanted children.”
The sentence was so grotesquely intimate that I felt physically cold.
“She asked what?”
“She said Andrew had always wanted a family.”
I had wanted children too.
Andrew knew why we had waited.
My younger sister had died during childbirth when I was twenty-six.
I had spent years working through the fear that followed.
Andrew had held me while I cried after my first panic attack in an obstetrics ward.
He had told me there was no timeline.
Apparently, he told his mother something else.
Elise continued.
“Lorraine said you were too focused on work.”
My vision narrowed.
Maya reached for my hand.
I did not realize I had stopped breathing until she squeezed my fingers.
Elise said, “I’m sorry.”
I looked at the screen.
“No.”
“What?”
“You don’t get to apologize for that part like you overheard it accidentally.”
“I know.”
“You sat at dinner with my husband and his mother while they discussed replacing me.”
Her voice broke slightly.
“Yes.”
There it was.
Not innocence.
Not denial.
Truth.
Ugly, late, useful truth.
I stood and walked to the window.
“I am sending my attorney everything you told me.”
“I expected that.”
“If you have documents, send them too.”
“I will.”
“And do not come to my house.”
“I won’t.”
“And do not contact me unless it concerns money, property, or documents.”
“Understood.”
I ended the call.
Maya stayed quiet for several seconds.
Then she said, “Do you want me to say what I’m thinking?”
“No.”
“Good, because I would lose my license in three states.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then my email chimed.
Elise had already sent six attachments.
The first was a screenshot of a text conversation with Andrew.
The second was the North Carolina contract.
The third was a photo of Lorraine sitting across from Elise at dinner in Geneva.
The fourth was a document I recognized instantly.
It was the notarized statement from my blue folder.
My inheritance agreement.
A document I had never given Andrew permission to copy.
May you like
Across the top, in Andrew’s handwriting, were three words.
Need alternate version.
