* * *
PART 1 — THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS EVERY MONTH
The first day of every month had become a day I feared.
Not because of the bills.
Not because of the mortgage.
Not even because groceries kept getting more expensive.
It was because of one specific amount.
Three hundred dollars.
For two years, my husband Daniel withdrew exactly three hundred dollars from our joint account on the first day of every month.
Always the same amount.
Always on the same day.
And after that, he would drive to Fairview.
Without me.
* * *
At first, I didn’t think anything of it.
Daniel worked hard. He had his own business, and sometimes he had appointments that didn’t involve me.
So when I asked him the first time where he was going, he simply smiled.
“I have to go to Fairview for a while.”
“For work?”
“A private matter.”
That was all he said.
And I accepted it.
I trusted my husband.
Or maybe I should say…
I thought I trusted him.
* * *
The second month, the exact same thing happened.
The third month too.
After six months, I started noticing it.
After a year, it started bothering me.
And after two years, I could no longer ignore it.
The strange thing wasn’t even that he drove to Fairview every month.
The strange thing was that he always took cash.
Three hundred dollars.
No card payment.
No bank transfer.
No receipt.
Nothing.
As if he was making sure there was no trace.
* * *
About seven months ago, one evening, the phone rang.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice came from the other end.
“Is Daniel there?”
I froze.
“Who is this?”
There was a short silence.
“I… I’ll call back later.”
“Who are you?”
Click.
The call ended.
I stood there holding the phone in my hand.
A woman.
She knew Daniel’s name.
And she was calling our house.
* * *
When Daniel came home that night, I told him what happened.
He took off his jacket.
“Probably someone who dialed the wrong number.”
“She asked for you.”
“Then she must have the wrong number.”
“She knew your name.”
Daniel looked at me for a second.
Then he smiled.
“You worry too much.”
Maybe he was right.
Maybe I really was overthinking.
I wanted to believe him.
So I pretended it meant nothing.
* * *
Until that woman called again.
And then again.
Every time, the same thing happened.
She asked for Daniel.
And the moment I asked who she was, she hung up.
One night, I decided not to ask anymore.
I wanted to know who she was.
I wanted to remember her voice.
But before I could say anything, I only heard:
“Hello?”
Then silence.
And once again, the call was disconnected.
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
* * *
That same night, Daniel fell asleep on the couch.
He was exhausted.
I walked over and placed a blanket over him.
When I lifted his jacket to put it on the chair, something fell out of the pocket.
A small folded piece of paper.
I picked it up.
I was going to put it back.
Until I saw a name.
Marguerite.
Underneath it was a phone number.
And below that…
An address.
Fairview.
* * *
My stomach tightened.
I read the address again.
Fairview.
The same place Daniel went to every month.
I sat down on the edge of the table.
My hands began to shake.
Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place.
The three hundred dollars.
The secret trips.
The phone calls.
The woman.
Marguerite.
* * *
I wanted to tell myself it meant nothing.
That there had to be a logical explanation.
But deep down, I knew I was lying to myself.
I thought about the past two years.
Every time Daniel told me he “had to go out.”
Every time I believed him.
Every time I kissed him goodbye before he left for Fairview.
My eyes filled with tears.
Was he with another woman all this time?
Had he built a second life there?
A life where I didn’t exist?
* * *
I couldn’t handle the truth.
But the thought of living inside a lie was even worse.
That night, I barely slept.
The next morning, I acted like everything was normal.
Daniel sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning.”
He looked at me.
“Did you sleep well?”
I smiled.
“Perfectly.”
I lied.
For the first time in our marriage, I lied to him.
Not because I wanted to betray him.
But because I needed time.
Time to understand what was really happening.
* * *
