After His Mistress Bullied My Daughter, I Left

I set the last plate on the table at six o'clock. Roasted chicken with rosemary. Garlic mashed potatoes. Green beans the way Malia liked them, with butter and almonds. I'd made everything from scratch. The dining room looked perfect. Candles. Place cards Malia had drawn with crayons that morning. She'd written 'Daddy' in big crooked letters with a heart.

She sat on the couch in her red Christmas dress, legs swinging. Her stuffed rabbit was tucked under one arm. "When's Daddy coming?"

"Soon, baby." I checked my phone again. No response to my texts. I'd sent four. The last one just said: *Malia's waiting.*

Seven o'clock. The candles burned low. Malia's head drooped against the couch cushion. I carried her to her room, tucked the rabbit beside her, kissed her forehead. She didn't wake up.

I came back to the dining room and stared at the cold food. The wax pooling around the candlesticks. I told myself there was an explanation. Traffic. A last-minute meeting. Something.

The elevator chimed at nine-thirty.

I stood up too fast. My chair scraped the floor. I smoothed my dress and walked to the foyer. I was already smiling. Already preparing to forgive him. Already thinking: *It's Christmas Eve. Don't ruin it.*

The elevator doors opened.

Landon stepped out. He wore his charcoal suit, the one I'd picked up from the tailor last week. His tie was loose. He looked good. He always looked good.

Then I saw the woman behind him.

She was young. Mid-twenties maybe. Long dark hair. A black dress that looked expensive. She had her hand on Landon's arm like she belonged there.

I blinked. My smile stayed frozen on my face. "Landon?"

He walked past me into the living room. Set his briefcase down. Shrugged off his coat. The woman followed him. She looked around the penthouse like she was cataloging it.

"Maren." Landon's voice was casual. Easy. "This is Nyla. She'll be staying with us for the holidays."

The name hit me like cold water.

Nyla Fox. The scholarship student. The girl I'd found three years ago waiting tables at a campus cafe, brilliant and broke. I'd paid her tuition. Bought her textbooks. Written recommendation letters. Invited her to our home for dinners when I knew she had nowhere else to go.

She smiled at me now. It didn't reach her eyes. "Hi, Maren. Thanks for having me."

I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. My brain was trying to catch up. Trying to make the pieces fit.

"I know it's last minute," Landon said. He poured himself a drink at the bar. Didn't offer me one. "But Nyla had nowhere to go for Christmas. I told her we had plenty of room."

"You—" My voice came out thin. "You didn't ask me."

He turned. Looked at me like I'd said something ridiculous. "It's Christmas, Maren. Don't be difficult."

"Difficult?" The word felt sharp in my mouth. "Landon, you brought someone into our home without telling me. On Christmas Eve. While your daughter waited for you all night."

Nyla shifted her weight. Looked down. Playing the part of the uncomfortable guest.

Landon's jaw tightened. "Malia's fine. She's a kid. Kids fall asleep." He set his glass down too hard. "And Nyla is our guest. You will be civil."

Civil. The word hung in the air between us.

I looked at Nyla. Really looked. At the way she stood too close to my husband. At the way her hand had been on his arm. At the dress that cost more than a scholarship student should be able to afford.

Something cold and clear settled in my chest.

"I think," I said quietly, "that Nyla should leave."

Landon's face darkened. "Excuse me?"

"This is my home. And I'm asking her to leave."

"Your home?" He laughed. It was an ugly sound. "Everything you have came from me, Maren. This penthouse. Your credit cards. That dress you're wearing. You don't get to tell me who I invite into my home."

I felt the words like a slap. But I kept my voice steady. "Then I'll take Malia and go to a hotel."

"You'll do no such thing." He stepped toward me. His voice dropped. Dangerous. "You will stop being dramatic. You will apologize to Nyla for making her feel unwelcome. And you will remember your place."

My place.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Turned toward the hallway. I needed to get away from him. Needed to think.

"Don't walk away from me," Landon said.

I kept walking.

He followed. Grabbed my arm. I pulled away. He shoved past me toward the guest room.

And then I heard it.

A small voice. Sleepy and confused. "Mommy?"

Malia stood in the hallway in her red dress. Holding her rabbit. She'd woken up. Come looking for us.

Landon's shoulder hit her as he pushed past.

She went down hard. Her knees cracked against the hardwood. The rabbit flew from her hands. She cried out—a sharp, shocked sound.

Landon didn't stop. Didn't turn around. Just kept walking to the guest room. The door closed behind him.

I dropped to my knees. Malia was crying. Her lip was bleeding. Her front tooth—her baby tooth, the one that had been loose for weeks—was chipped. A piece of it lay on the floor beside her.

"Baby. Baby, I'm here." I scooped her up. She was shaking. Blood on her chin. On her pretty Christmas dress.

"Daddy pushed me," she whispered. Like she couldn't believe it.

I carried her to the bathroom. Wet a cloth with cold water. Pressed it to her mouth. She whimpered. I held her and sang the lullaby I'd sung since she was born. My voice didn't shake. I didn't let it.

When the bleeding stopped, I carried her back to bed. Tucked the rabbit beside her. Smoothed her hair. Kissed her forehead.

"Is Daddy mad at me?" she asked.

"No, baby. Daddy's not mad at you. Go to sleep."

She closed her eyes. I waited until her breathing evened out. Then I walked back to the kitchen.

The dining room was exactly as I'd left it. Cold food. Burned-down candles. Malia's place card with the crooked heart.

I sat down in the dark.

And I began to plan.