Chapter 4: The Sharpest Weapon

I figured she was helping her parents, covering her siblings, drowning in expenses.

I never imagined this.

That my wife—now a big-shot academic—could pull in millions from one project like it was nothing.

And I never imagined every dollar went to another man.

Yeah, I know. At my age, being jealous over this stuff is almost a joke.

But after grinding for thirty-plus years, living like a ghost—don't I deserve an answer?

That first night away from Janet and Asher, I actually slept. Really slept.

I dreamed about the little town where we met.

Janet was the only college grad there. The mayor, the rich families—they all wanted her married off to their sons.

She turned them down. Said she'd been promised to me since we were kids.

Said a person shouldn't be faithless. Shouldn't betray someone.

She spent all her savings on a bicycle. Told me it was my wedding gift.

I took her out of that town, into the city, so she could go to school.

To cover it, I worked rotating factory shifts. Overtime. Nights. Harder than anyone.

She worried about me walking home in the dark, so she rewired a little flashlight just for me.

No matter how late it got, she'd wait up for me after my night shifts.

Even with early classes, she still packed my lunch for when I got home.

Back then, I was grateful.

I really thought I'd married a good woman.

So when did it all go sideways?

Probably the year Janet transferred to that elite school.

She was twenty-eight. Young. Beautiful.

Me? Barely thirty, already looking forty.

I got assigned to a factory near her campus.

That's where she met my supervisor—Connor.

He had a degree like her. Smooth. Sharp. Charming.

Meanwhile, I was drowning in housework, juggling everything at home.

It never even occurred to me they'd stay tangled up for the next twenty years.

So what was I during those years?

A father on paper?

A live-in servant?

Or just a tool she kept around?

The next morning, I went to the bank.

I checked my pension with my ID.

A few hundred bucks left. I took every cent.

At the mall, I bought a massage device I'd wanted forever.

My lower back is wrecked. Even doctors couldn't fix it.

Anytime I brought it up, Janet snapped, "Young people get back problems too. At your age, stop being dramatic."

I've survived worse than this.

This wasn't drama.

I just didn't want to keep hurting for something that wasn't worth it anymore.

After the mall, I grabbed takeout and headed home.

A whole day with no cooking, no cleaning, no nonstop chores—just me—had me in a weirdly good mood. I was even humming as I unlocked the door.

Then I heard Asher screaming.

My stomach dropped. I rushed in and found him collapsed on the floor, fresh from surgery, barely able to move. Panic hit. I dropped the food and hauled him onto the couch.

I hadn't even opened my mouth when he glared at me, pure accusation. "You've got some nerve, Dad. Where'd you disappear to last night? You're old—what are you doing wandering off like that? If you hadn't made Mom mad, would I be like this today?"

Then he started barking orders. Wash him some fruit.

That's when it clicked.

They'd planned this.

Janet knew my leaving yesterday meant I was done playing nice. But she also knew I wouldn't abandon Asher.

He was my weak spot.

And her sharpest weapon.