“Laura,” he whispered.
I didn’t move. He stood there for a moment, watching me. I could feel his presence like a dark shadow in the room. Then I heard the soft ping of a notification from the iPad. He walked over, picked it up, and I heard the tapping of his fingers.
“Sleep tight, cash cow,” he whispered so low I almost didn’t hear it.
He closed the door.
I opened my eyes in the darkness. He thought I was sleeping. He thought I was the cash cow—but he forgot that cows have horns, and when they are cornered, they stampede.
The next morning, the doorbell rang at 10:00 a.m. sharp. It was Monica. I had barely slept. My eyes felt gritty, but I had applied extra concealer and put on a crisp white blouse. Armor. I needed armor.
Richard had left for work early, which probably meant he was looking at real estate listings or meeting with a shady accountant. So it was just me and the woman carrying my husband’s child.
I opened the door and there she was. She looked glowing. I had to admit, pregnancy suited her. She was wearing one of the oversized cashmere sweaters I had bought her two weeks ago. It cost four hundred dollars. She had spilled coffee on it already.
“Laura!” she squealed, leaning in for a hug.
I held my breath as her body pressed against mine. I could feel the hard bump of her stomach against my waist. It took every ounce of willpower not to shove her backward down the porch steps.
“Hi, Monica,” I said, my voice tight. “Come on in.”
We sat in the sunroom. I poured her a cup of decaf herbal tea, the expensive blend she liked.
“So,” she said, blowing on the steam. “How are you? Richard texted me that you had a migraine last night. You poor thing. You really need to take better care of yourself. At your age, stress can be dangerous.”
At your age. The first dig of the morning.
“I’m fine,” I said, taking a sip of my black coffee. “Just a lot on my mind. Richard and I were talking about the future.”
I saw her hand pause midair.
“Oh? What about the future?”
“Well,” I lied smoothly. “I was thinking about the inheritance coming in from my dad. It’s a lot of money to manage. I was telling Richard maybe we should just donate a huge chunk of it, start a new foundation, you know, give back to the world instead of hoarding it.”
Monica choked on her tea. She coughed violently, setting the cup down with a clatter.
“Donate it? All of it?”
“Not all of it.” I smiled, a shark-like baring of teeth. “But most. Richard and I don’t have children. We don’t have anyone to leave a legacy to. Why keep millions sitting around when we live so simply?”
Panic flitted across her eyes. She rubbed her belly unconsciously, a protective gesture.
“But Laura, surely you want to keep some for security. Or what if you guys try for a baby again? Surrogacy is expensive.”
“No,” I sighed, looking out the window at the garden. “Richard thinks I’m too old, and honestly, maybe he’s right. Maybe some bloodlines just aren’t meant to continue. Besides, karma has a way of working things out. If you do good, you get good. If you lie and cheat… well, you end up with nothing.”
I turned my gaze back to her. I locked eyes with her. For a second, the air in the room went still. I saw a flicker of genuine fear in her pupils. Did she know I knew?
Then she forced a laugh, high and brittle.
“Wow, that’s heavy for a Wednesday morning. You’re so noble, Laura. But Richard—does he agree? He works so hard. He deserves to enjoy that money.”
“Richard agrees with whatever I say,” I said coldly. “He knows who holds the purse strings.”
Monica shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
