Six Years Of Afternoon Tea Bought Me The Truth About My Husband Chapter 04

Six Years Of Afternoon Tea Bought Me The Truth About My Husband Chapter 04

Five days before the birthday banquet, I made a trip to the bank.

Inside the safety deposit box was a manila file folder.

It contained all the old documents from the days when Andres and I first started the business.

The lease agreement for our very first company.

My bank transfer receipts.

The bridge loan my dad had lent him.

There was also a letter of commitment written in his own hand.

Back then, he promised my dad that he would always take good care of me.

My dad didn’t make things difficult for him.

He only said, “It’s fine if Stevie goes through hard times with you. But you are not to humiliate her.”

Andres wrote down his commitment on the spot.

All major marital property required joint decision-making.

If the marriage dissolved due to his fault, he would voluntarily forfeit his management rights of the company, and I would take over for liquidation.

The company was pitifully small back then.

He wrote it without a shred of hesitation.

Later, when the company took off, he used every excuse under the sun to keep me out of management.

“Your health isn’t great.”

“You’re not cut out for entertaining clients.”

“Someone needs to take care of things at home.”

I believed every single word.

Looking back now, trust wasn’t worth the air it took to say the word.

I took photos of the documents and saved them securely.

Then, I went to the hospital.

The fertility records from all those years ago were still there.

Andres had azoospermia.

The doctor had recommended IVF.

But he tore up the report, saying he didn’t want to worry his parents.

Ever since then, whenever his mother berated me for being barren, he never spoke up for me once.

My hands were perfectly steady when I received the copies. So steady that it surprised even me.

Three days before the birthday banquet, Norah texted me on WhatsApp: [Stevie, I heard Mrs. Moreau’s birthday is in a couple of days. Would it be okay if I came?]

It was followed by a cute emoji.

I hesitated briefly before answering: [Of course.]

She texted back quickly: [Thank you, Stevie. I was worried you’d mind.]

I typed: [I don’t mind. Come.]

Then she sent a voice message. Her voice was sickly sweet.

“Then I’ll wear something loose. Otherwise, if people see my belly, they might get the wrong idea.”

I tapped to play it three times.

Then I saved it.

I replied: [It’s okay.]

She stopped pretending. “Stevie, you’re such a good person. No wonder Andres always says you’re the most sensible one.”

Sensible.

I had heard the word for ten years.

Sensible people get a smaller bite of food.

Sensible people take a step back.

Sensible people get trampled into the mud and are still expected to praise the cleanliness of the other person’s shoes.

I screenshotted her messages and sent them to Callie.

Callie: [Mrs. Moreau, she’s pushing it way too far.]

Me: [Let her be.]

Callie sent over a new photo.

There was a red folder inside Andres’s car.

The cover read: [Postnuptial Property Arrangements.]

Me: [Can you take a picture of what’s inside the file?]

Callie: [All right. Tomorrow’s my husband’s last day on the job anyway, so screw it. I’m doing it.]

The next morning, Callie sent the photos over.

Every single page was shot clearly.

The contents weren’t long.

Andres was planning to have me sign an agreement.

The stated reason was “establishing a growth fund for a new family member.”

The actual content was to transfer the house under our name and my remaining company dividend rights to an unborn child.

The child’s guardian was listed as Norah.

I stared at it and laughed for a long time.

Andres sure had a wild imagination.

Using my assets to support his mistress. And expecting me to sign it with my own hand.

In the afternoon, he came home.

Sure enough, he held that red folder in his hand.

“Stevie, I want to discuss something with you.”

I poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him. “Go ahead.”

He pushed the folder in front of me. “My mother is getting older and has always wanted a grandchild. This child of Norah’s, no matter what people outside say, is innocent after all. I want to give the child some security.”

I flipped open the folder. “Security using my house and my dividend rights?”

“That’s marital property.”

“So you’re giving it away to someone else?”

He frowned. “It’s not someone else. It’s just a child.”

I stared at him, asking, “Does the child bear the Moreau name?”

He paused for a second, replying, “Of course.”

“Did I agree to that?”

Andres hadn’t expected me to ask this.

He leaned back. “Stevie, don’t think so highly of yourself. You’re not the only one who calls the shots in this family.”

I shut the folder. “We’ll talk about this on the day of the birthday banquet.”

He grew alert, demanding, “What are you trying to do?”

I smiled. “Talking it over in front of your mother just feels more formal.”