Chapter 3: Exposing the Truth

On the phone, I spoke in a weak voice, telling her I’d been in a serious car accident while saving someone and urgently needed thirty thousand dollars for treatment.

My voice shook as I told her, “Jenna, I was in a bad accident. I tried to save a little girl. They say I need surgery—thirty grand, up front. Please, I need your help. I’m scared.”

Jenna’s voice instantly turned sharp: “Ethan, are you out of your mind? Why do you always have to play the hero? Don’t you ever think about me and Tyler?”

She sounded like she was calling from the mall, echoing with background chatter. “You never think of us! Always gotta be the big hero, but what about me? What about Tyler?"

“Anyway, you can’t touch the family’s money. Make the driver who hit you pay compensation.”

“You think you’re entitled to my money? That’s our savings, Ethan. You should be suing the driver, not coming to me. You always want something.”

“You never make money and always bring trouble, dragging us down. Honestly, Ethan, sometimes I wonder if we’d all be better off without you.”

There was a pause, then her voice cut like ice. “Honestly, Ethan, you’re nothing but a burden. Maybe it’d be easier if you just—” She stopped short, but the message was clear. I could hear Tyler’s video game beeping in the background, the world moving on without me.

Hearing her say this, I was so furious I fell silent.

My hand tightened on the phone, knuckles white. My parents stared, stunned. I felt a cold, bitter anger welling up—a silent scream trapped inside my chest.

She thought I was so badly hurt I was about to die, so she didn’t bother to hide her true feelings.

There was no trace of concern, just annoyance, like I’d interrupted her spa day. The mask was off. I heard, finally, who she really was.

Even though I’d already experienced the pain of her betrayal in my previous life, I still couldn’t help but feel heartbroken in this moment.

All those years together—holidays, birthday cakes, late-night drives with the radio low—flashed before my eyes. My heart still twisted, even now, knowing how it all ended.

We’d been married for years. She’d never worked a day. At first, I sympathized with her for taking care of our child at home and suggested my mom come help her, but she just gave me the cold shoulder, saying she didn’t want to live with her in-laws and cursing me for being useless because I couldn’t afford a nanny. She’d often call me a loser and good-for-nothing in front of our son, even blaming my parents for not giving us money.

It had started small—snarky jokes at cookouts, side-eyes when I forgot to pick up milk. Then came the real digs: refusing to let my folks visit, saying she’d never live “like a second-class citizen under your parents’ roof.” Even my mom’s offer to help with Tyler was met with slamming doors and cold silence. She’d slam the door so hard the wreath would fall off—one of those red, white, and blue ones she bought for Memorial Day.

My parents were just ordinary folks from small-town Ohio. Back then, to help me get married, they spent their life savings to buy me a house in the suburbs, and even gave Jenna’s family twenty thousand dollars as a wedding gift. They didn’t even keep enough for their own retirement, yet she still cursed them. I argued with her, but she accused me of siding with my parents, treating her as an outsider, and would cry and threaten to call them to talk about divorce.

I remembered my dad’s calloused hands, how he’d pressed a wrinkled check into mine the day I proposed, whispering, “She’s your future, son. Take care of her.” I tried to mediate, but every argument spiraled into accusations—Jenna insisting I loved my parents more than her, threatening to pack up and leave, waving the word “divorce” like a weapon.

I had to swallow my pride and apologize just to calm her down.

Too many nights ended with me pacing the driveway, staring at the stars, rehearsing apologies I didn’t owe. Anything to keep the peace, anything for Tyler.

My monthly take-home pay was five thousand dollars. After daily expenses, I could still save about two thousand a month, and I handed all of it over to Jenna, because she said she needed a sense of security since she didn’t work. Later, I discovered she was spending money recklessly.

I’d get my paycheck, pay the bills, and the rest vanished into Jenna’s checking account. She claimed she needed a safety net, so I handed over every extra cent. But the credit card statements told another story—boutiques, spas, endless Amazon boxes on the porch.

I didn’t mind her spending, but shouldn’t it be within our means? She’d buy thousands of dollars worth of bags and jewelry at a time. If I questioned her, she’d scream and throw her phone at my face, saying her best friend’s husband often gave her luxury gifts—so why didn’t she have any?

It didn’t matter if the rent was due—if she wanted a new Michael Kors bag, she’d get it. My attempts at reason only led to flying objects and louder fights, neighbors probably rolling their eyes at our midnight shouting matches.

Over the years, I’d given her at least a hundred thousand dollars, but she wouldn’t even give me thirty thousand to save my life.

I did the math in my head—birthdays, holidays, random shopping sprees. Over and over, I forked out cash, thinking it’d buy peace or happiness. But when I needed her most, she acted like I was just another bill to pay.

Hearing her curse me to just die over the phone, my parents were dumbstruck.

Mom’s mouth hung open, a paper cup of hospital coffee forgotten in her hand. Dad looked like he’d been gut-punched, his eyes shining with tears he refused to let fall.

After she hung up, I smiled bitterly at them and said, “Dad, Mom, do you believe me now? Even if she’s not seeing someone else, I have to divorce her.”

My voice cracked, but I stood tall. I watched the realization dawn in their eyes—anger, disbelief, then a grim kind of acceptance. I wasn’t the only one who’d been betrayed.

“Son, Jenna’s words may be harsh, but after all, she gave you a child. If you divorce, it’ll hurt Tyler too much…”

Dad’s voice was softer, uncertain. “I know she’s tough, but Tyler’s your boy. He needs his dad. Don’t throw it all away over a few ugly words.” Mom dabbed her eyes, nodding in agreement, hope clinging to her face.

When they mentioned my son, I sneered inwardly.

My jaw tightened. Tyler. The boy I’d tucked in every night, bandaged every scraped knee. My parents couldn’t know the truth—not yet. Not until they saw what she really was.

Just a brat, and yet they still call him Tyler. But he’s nothing but trouble.

I remembered all the tantrums, the way he parroted Jenna’s insults, the cold distance even when I tried to get close. Maybe I’d always sensed something was off.

This time, I’ll make sure they know what real regret feels like.

I made a silent vow—no more letting things slide. If they wanted to see the real Jenna, I’d show them.

“Dad, Mom, if you still don’t believe me, help me put on a little act.”

They exchanged worried glances, but nodded. Whatever it took to help me, they’d do it.

I bought some animal blood from the butcher and smeared it all over myself. My parents helped me wrap up in bandages, leaving only my nostrils, mouth, and eyes exposed.

The smell was metallic, sticky. I grimaced as Mom dabbed fake blood on my forehead, Dad wrapping the bandages tighter than needed. We looked like a bad Halloween gag gone wrong, but it worked—one look and I was a dead man walking. Mom kept fussing with the bandages, muttering about how we should’ve just bought fake blood at Party City.

At that moment, I truly looked like a dying man. After hooking up an oxygen mask, I sent Jenna a selfie and a message:

[Come to the hospital. The insurance company is here to discuss compensation.]

The oxygen mask fogged as I exhaled, the hospital lighting harsh and sterile behind me. I snapped a photo, texted her: “Insurance is here to talk about settlement. Please come. It’s urgent.”

Sure enough, as soon as she saw the word ‘compensation,’ Jenna hurried to the hospital.

The three dots appeared on my phone, then a flurry of texts: “Which room? Are they bringing a check? I’ll be there in ten.” I almost smiled, but bitterness burned in my chest. Even now, money was the only thing that could get her to show up.

As her footsteps echoed down the hospital hallway, I braced myself. This time, she’d see the real me—the one she couldn’t fool anymore.