My Husband Locked Me Out of Our Home for Another Woman Chapter 02

My Husband Locked Me Out of Our Home for Another Woman Chapter 02

The next morning, I opened the refrigerator.

My coffee beans were gone.

So was my yogurt.

Where my hot sauce used to sit, there was now a row of low-sugar oat milk.

A note was stuck to the fridge door.

[Sienna can’t have caffeine, cold drinks, or high sugar.]

The handwriting was Nolan’s.

He came out of the kitchen carrying a bowl of oatmeal.

“Keep your food bland for now. Sienna can’t handle strong smells.”

I looked at the bowl.

Last night, when my stomach was hurting, he had not asked whether I could eat anything.

Now he remembered that Sienna could not stand certain smells.

I picked up my bag.

“I’m not eating.”

Nolan frowned.

“You’re doing this again? You’re going to make a scene over breakfast too?”

I changed my shoes.

“Save it for her.”

His voice sank.

“Elena, don’t be so spiteful.”

I went into the walk-in closet.

Sienna’s beige coat, nightgown, and shawl were hanging in the main section.

My garment bag had been moved onto the balcony, its bottom covered in dust.

I picked it up.

Nolan followed me in.

“She gets anxious when her things are left out in the open. Don’t overthink it.”

“So my dress getting ruined on the balcony isn’t supposed to make me anxious?”

He pressed his lips together.

“Do you really have to compare yourself to someone who’s sick?”

My phone vibrated.

A message popped up in the Whitmore family group chat.

Nolan’s mother had sent a voice message.

“Nolan, how did Sienna sleep last night? Don’t let Elena go into the master bedroom and upset her. A patient can’t handle that kind of stress.”

Nolan replied: [Don’t worry. I handled it.]

His mother sent another message.

Nolan’s mother: [Elena is capable. A little inconvenience for a few days won’t hurt her. After the wedding, we’ll all be family anyway.]

No one asked where I had slept last night.

No one asked whether my stomach pain had gotten better.

I took screenshots of the messages.

Nolan saw me, and his expression darkened.

“Why are you taking screenshots?”

“For the memories.”

He reached for my phone.

I stepped half a pace back.

“Don’t touch it.”

His hand stopped midair.

“Elena, why are you so thorny now?”

I put the dress back into the garment bag.

“Your family cuts deeper. I’m still learning.”

That morning, I took half a day off work.

I exported the down payment records.

I exported the mortgage payments.

I exported the renovation invoices.

I exported the HOA fees, appliance receipts, and furnishing list.

On the spreadsheet, Nolan’s actual mortgage contributions were scattered and irregular.

Of all the furniture, only the television and dining table had been charged to his card.

I messaged Claire Bennett.

Elena: [Help me review a premarital property settlement.]

Claire: [You finally snapped out of it?]

I replied: [Cut the commentary. Just help me do the math.]

Claire sent one sentence back.

Claire: [The condo is in your name, and you have the records. Don’t go soft.]

Nolan came home at noon.

He handed me a cup of warm water.

“I was too harsh last night. I’ll take you to look at wedding rings this weekend.”

I looked at the cup.

A temperature label was still stuck to the bottom.

One hundred thirteen degrees Fahrenheit.

Sienna’s label.

I did not take it.

His phone rang.

Sienna had sent a voice message.

“Nolan, that blanket feels a little damp. I can’t sleep.”

Nolan picked up his car keys.

“I’ll go ask the dry cleaner. I’ll be back soon.”

I asked, “What about the rings?”

He stood at the door.

“That can wait.”

I lowered my eyes and submitted the early mortgage payoff request.

A confirmation page popped up.

I tapped confirm.

He was busy protecting a blanket.

I was busy dismantling a future marital home.