Chapter 11: Someone Else Knew

I read the anonymous email three times.

Once Claire is in Iowa, Boston can finally be just ours.

Below it was Tessa’s reply.

A single red heart.

Nothing complicated.

Nothing that could be explained away.

No carefully worded excuse about friendship or career networking.

Just two people discussing a future that had apparently required removing me from it.

My hands were completely still.

That surprised me.

A few months ago, seeing something like that would have destroyed me.

I would have called Grant.

I would have demanded an explanation.

I would have called Tessa afterward, hoping she would tell me there was some mistake.

Instead, I saved the screenshot.

Then I forwarded it to my lawyer.

Her reply came ten minutes later.

Keep the original email. Do not respond.

Simple.

Professional.

Exactly what I needed.

I placed my phone face down on the desk and opened my textbook.

But I didn't read a single word.

One question kept circling through my mind.

Who sent it?

The sender's address was unfamiliar.

No name.

No signature.

No explanation.

Only the screenshot and those five words.

You deserved to know the truth.

I checked the email headers.

Nothing useful.

The account appeared to have been created recently.

Whoever had sent it didn't want to be found.

For the next two days, nothing happened.

Then Grant's lawyer contacted mine.

Grant wanted to dispute the division of property.

I almost smiled when I heard.

Of course he did.

Grant had always loved a negotiation when he believed he understood all the variables.

My lawyer called me that afternoon.

“There's something unusual,” she said.

I sat up straighter.

“What?”

“They're asking for access to the records related to the joint account. Specifically, the transfer you made before leaving Chicago.”

“The money I earned?”

“Yes.”

I opened my banking records.

Every paycheck.

Every direct deposit.

Every transfer.

I had already provided everything.

My lawyer had made sure of that.

“Why would they challenge it?” I asked.

There was a pause.

“Possibly because Grant is having financial problems.”

I frowned.

Boston.

The apartment.

The furniture.

The relocation costs.

Suddenly, the spreadsheet returned to my mind.

My name on the rental application.

My credit history.

Financial support.

“How bad?”

“We don't know yet.”

But I suspected Grant did.

That evening, I received another message.

This time, it wasn't anonymous.

It came from Tessa.

My finger hovered over the screen.

Tessa: Please don't ignore me. I need to explain.

I stared at it.

Then another message appeared.

I didn't know everything.

A third.

Grant lied to me too.

I almost blocked her.

Almost.

Instead, I replied with four words.

What didn't you know?

The typing indicator appeared.

Stopped.

Appeared again.

For nearly a minute, she said nothing.

Finally:

I didn't know he used your name for the apartment.

I read the sentence carefully.

Not I didn't know about Iowa.

Not I didn't know about the spreadsheet.

Not I didn't know he was planning to leave you.

Only the apartment.

I typed:

But you knew about Iowa.

Nothing.

Then:

I thought you agreed.

I laughed quietly.

The sound had no humor in it.

Of course she thought that.

Grant had probably told her I was happy to sacrifice everything.

And she had wanted to believe him.

Believing him was easier than admitting what accepting his plan said about her.

I typed again.

You saw my boxes.

Her response came quickly.

I thought it was temporary.

You saw the spreadsheet.

This time, she took longer.

I knew about a care schedule.

My jaw tightened.

You helped him convince me Boston wasn't suitable for me.

No answer.

I waited.

Finally, she sent:

Yes.

One word.

At least it was honest.

I leaned back in my chair.

Outside my apartment window, rain had begun tapping against the glass.

“Why?” I typed.

This time, the answer came in several messages.

At first, I thought Grant was just helping me.

Then I realized I liked how much he depended on me.

I knew it was wrong.

I told myself you and he were already drifting apart.

I told myself Boston would make everything clearer.

And then...

The next message took almost five minutes.

And then I stopped asking questions because I didn't want the answers.

I stared at that.

There it was.

The closest thing to an apology she had ever given me.

Not innocence.

Cowardice.

I typed slowly.

Did you send me the screenshot?

No.

My stomach tightened.

Are you sure?

Yes.

Then another message appeared.

Claire, there's someone else who knows about the Boston plan.

I stopped breathing.

Who?

She didn't answer immediately.

Instead, my phone began ringing.

Grant.

I stared at his name.

Tessa sent one final message before the call stopped.

Don't tell him I contacted you.

Too late.

Another call came through.

Then another.

Then my lawyer's office emailed me.

Subject: Urgent — New Information Received.

I opened it.

Attached was a document from the property management company in Boston.

The original rental application.

My name was there.

But this time, I noticed something my lawyer had missed.

There were two electronic signatures.

Grant's.

And beneath it—

Tessa's.

She hadn't just known about the apartment.

She had signed the application.

I looked back at our conversation.

I didn't know he used your name for the apartment.

A lie.

Another one.

My phone rang again.

Grant.

This time, I answered.

“Claire, finally.”

His voice sounded strained.

“We need to talk.”

I looked at Tessa's signature on the screen.

Then I said quietly,

“Yes, Grant.”

For the first time since I left Chicago, I smiled.

“I think we do.”