Behind me, the real Jack shuffled into view, his face draining of color. Without a word, he dragged the statue inside like a corpse, ignoring my demands for an explanation. “I’ll handle it,” he muttered, avoiding my eyes. His haunted expression sent a chill through me, but I forced myself to leave with the kids, promising we’d talk later. As we loaded into the car, Noah handed me a crumpled note he’d found under the statue. My heart sank as I read it—a blackmail threat from a woman named Sally, who’d sculpted Jack after learning he’d lied about being married.

By noon, I was in a divorce attorney’s office, sliding the note across the desk. “I need proof,” the lawyer said. That evening, I found it—Jack’s laptop open to desperate emails begging Sally not to expose him. I copied everything, sent it to myself, and left him sleeping at the table. The next morning, I reached out to Sally, who confirmed their year-long affair. She agreed to testify, and a month later, we stood in court as the judge granted me full custody, the house, and the money Jack owed her.

Outside the courtroom, Jack tried to speak. “I never meant to hurt you,” he said. I turned, calm and cold. “You never meant for me to find out.” I walked away, hands steady on the wheel, leaving him with his statue, his lies, and the wreckage of the life he thought he could keep. For the first time in years, I breathed freely—no longer fooled, no longer his.