Chapter One: The Drive Home
The car idled in the driveway for seventeen minutes.
Ernest Morris gripped the steering wheel like it was the only solid thing left in his world. Thirty-four years old. Four years and seven months married. Three months since he first noticed the cracks spreading through his life like fissures in drywall.
He rehearsed the lie again.
Kelly, I got fired today.
Five words. Simple enough to say. Impossible to unsay.
His phone sat in his pocket, already recording. Patricia Morrison had been clear about North Carolina law — one-party consent meant he could document any conversation he was part of. Even conversations he overheard in his own home.
The townhouse looked peaceful in the fading afternoon light.
Ernest knew better now.
He’d come home early two weeks ago with a migraine. Heard Kelly’s voice drifting from the kitchen, sharp and animated in a way she never was with him anymore.
*I’m telling you, Jess, I just need to wait it out a little longer. Once we hit that 5-year mark, the alimony calculation changes completely.*
She’d stopped mid-sentence when she heard his footsteps.
Four years and seven months. Five months shy of her target.
Ernest had spent those two weeks watching. Noticing how she pulled away when he leaned in for a kiss. How she’d moved clothes into the guest room closet. How she’d started pushing him to add her name to his investment account — the one he’d built before they even met.
Being a real team, she’d called it.
Showing trust.
The silent treatment lasted two days when he hesitated.
Now he sat in his car, about to walk into his own home and detonate a lie designed to expose the truth.
He climbed out.
