He Forged My Name to Give Away Our Home, So I Gave Away His Chapter 01

He Forged My Name to Give Away Our Home, So I Gave Away His Chapter 01

My mother taught me one thing growing up: there are plenty of fish in the sea, and if one goes belly-up, you throw him back and cast another line.

So when I stood before the base headquarters’ notice board and saw that my husband of three years had surrendered our only entitlement for a military house to his former sister-in-arms, I didn’t shed a single tear. I didn’t throw a tantrum either.

Instead, I walked straight into the records office to copy the housing assignment list, pulled my final overnight shift at the base pharmacy, and called a moving truck before the sun even hit the horizon.

I hadn’t expected Ethan to storm back from the command room, his service cap barely balanced on his head as he blocked the doorway of our duplex.

Half the neighborhood wives peeked through their curtains to watch.

The usually unflappable Major stood in the middle of our hollowed-out living room, his voice incredibly raspy.

“Ava, it took me two years of filing paperwork with Washington to get this house approved. Why the hell are you packing up?”

I hauled the final crate of medical books to the door, never looking back.

“You filed the paperwork, Ethan, that’s true. But since when are you and I the ones moving in there?”

His face instantly darkened.

I slammed his signed waiver onto the coffee table.

“Tell me, Ethan, when you forged my signature on this, did your hand shake even a little?”

***

Three years ago, when the Miller and Bennett families sat down to arrange our marriage, I stated my conditions upfront.

“No grand reception, no flashy announcements, and I don’t want the people on this base gossiping about my private life.”

Ethan sat across from me in his crisp service dress uniform, cuffs immaculate, a faint scar running across his left hand. He looked like a blade perfectly concealed in its sheath.

He stared at me for a long time.

“Done,” he replied.

“One more thing,” I added.

The elders at the table froze, their forks hovering over their plates.

I locked eyes with him.

“I don’t like Chloe, and I will never tolerate being your wife while you keep a torch burning for someone else.”

Chloe was his former comrade from his deployment days.

They had joined the academy together and trained side by side.

Word around the base was that during a wilderness survival exercise years ago, she had fallen into a ravine, and Ethan carried her on his back through seven miles of rugged terrain. It was only when Chloe was transferred out of state that their rumors finally quieted down.

Hearing my demand, Ethan filled my glass with warm water.

“Ava, since I’m agreeing to this marriage, I won’t ever let you suffer that kind of disrespect.”

I believed him back then.

And for three years, he truly was the perfect husband.

Whenever I pulled late shifts at the pharmacy, he would wait outside the door, keeping a hot thermos of coffee tucked inside his jacket.

When my stomach ulcer flared up, he memorized my entire prescription schedule, double-checking every single side effect with the doctors.

When we argued, he never slammed doors; he was always the first to bow his head and apologize.

Everyone in our residential loop said that Ava Bennett was the luckiest woman alive to marry such a doting man.

I used to think so, too.

Until the housing assignments were posted, and I happened to glance at the list on my way home from the clinic.

Under Ethan Miller’s name, the spouse column was completely blank.

The designated tenant read: Chloe Vance.

I froze in front of the board, the enamel basin slipping from my fingers and clattering onto the asphalt.

A neighbor washing her car nearby looked over, her voice instantly rising.

“Hey, Ava! Why is Major Miller’s new house registered under Captain Vance’s name?”

I didn’t answer.

I stared at those printed letters, realizing my last three years had been nothing but a farce.

Mrs. Higgins walked over, lowering her voice.

“Is this a typo? You’re the Major’s wife.”

Another woman chimed in immediately.

“How could it be a typo? The base commander stamped it himself. Chloe just got transferred back and she already lands a prime house—and it’s Ethan’s, no less. Unbelievable.”

I bent down to retrieve my dented washbasin.

The sharp edge scraped a red line across the back of my hand.

My pharmacy assistant, Daisy, ran out after me, her face pale with rage.

“Ava, I’m going to headquarters right now to demand an explanation from them.”

I caught her arm.

“Don’t.”

“You’re just going to take this lying down?”

I pushed the enamel basin into her arms.

“Go back to the pharmacy first.”

She stamped her foot.

“Are you seriously trying to protect his reputation right now?”

I stared at the tiny footnote at the bottom of the public notice: [The legal co-applicant has voluntarily waived all property rights and submitted the required paperwork.]

“I just need to see,” I murmured, “exactly how far he went to humiliate me.”

The records archive was on the third floor.

Mr. Davis, the clerk in charge of civilian filings, was sipping his coffee. When he saw me walk in, his mug nearly slipped from his fingers.

“Mrs. Miller! What brings you here?”

“I want to see my waiver.”

He avoided my gaze.

“I’m sorry, but that’s against base regulations.”

I placed my hospital ID flat on his desk.

“It’s against regulations for me to inspect a document that I supposedly signed?”

He wiped the sweat from his brow.

“The paperwork has already been archived. It’s difficult to pull up.”

I didn’t budge.

“Mr. Davis, I’ve been dispensing medicine at the base pharmacy for eight years. I can tell when a single milligram of medication is missing, and I can certainly spot a forged signature.”

Beads of sweat pooled on his forehead.

I gave him one final push.

“Don’t make me call the hospital’s internal affairs to escort me back here.”

He opened his drawer halfway, then froze.

A woman’s voice drifted in from the doorway.

“Ava, please don’t make things difficult for Mr. Davis.”

Chloe stood there, wrapped in a sleek wool coat, her hair pinned back up efficiently, holding a grocery bag filled with fresh fruit.

She looked at me, offering a gentle, accommodating smile.

“Regarding the house… didn’t Ethan explain it to you?”