Out making deliveries in a hundred-and-two-degree heat wave, I walked into a dumpling diner and ran straight into my husband, Burton Farley.
When he'd left the house that morning to drive for Uber, he'd been in a T-shirt washed thin and pale. Now he sat there in a sharp suit, dripping money.
The dumplings came out, and he gently warned the woman beside him to be careful, they were hot. He picked up his chopsticks and fed a little girl, smiling as he chatted with the owner.
"My wife's pregnant and she's been off her food. We've got a housekeeper who tries every recipe in the book, but the only thing she wants is your dumplings."
The owner cheerfully told them to come back anytime, then turned and saw me standing in the doorway and pointed at the counter.
"Your delivery order's over there!"
I didn't hear him. I walked straight toward Burton.
He had an expensive watch on his wrist. The woman beside him had that polished, well-bred look, a designer bag worth six figures tossed carelessly on her chair.
Even the clip in the little girl's hair was a luxury label.
Any one of those things could have made our lives a little easier.
Sweat stung my eyes until they ached.
Burton finally sensed something was wrong, and the moment he looked up and saw it was me, his face froze.
"Laurel Abbott, you—"
I cut him off. I tried to force a smile, but the tears fell anyway, out of my control.
"Burton, faking bankruptcy to lie to me and your son. Was it really that much fun?"
…
The color drained from his face.
The woman beside him looked over at me too, and I recognized her almost instantly. She was his old secretary, Gabriella Fox.
The little girl, five or six years old, had a face that looked exactly like Burton's.
Burton came to his senses, jumped up in a panic, and started pushing me toward the door.
"Sweetheart, go home first. I'll come back tonight and explain everything to you."
He planted himself in front of me, doing everything he could to block my view.
I shoved him hard, and the words tore out of me with a hatred I didn't even know I'd been holding.
"Explain what? Explain why you had a child with another woman and hid it from me and your son, while I stayed by your side like an idiot living a hard life with you?"
"Burton, what gives you the right to do this to us!"
I stared at the man in front of me, the tears streaming down, a sharp pain splitting my chest.
Four years ago, Burton's company failed to secure funding and ended up buried in debt.
We moved into the run-down outskirts of town with our two-year-old son and started working day and night to pay it off.
To make money, I worked myself to the bone, and I aged fast.
Our son was so good. He never threw tantrums or cried for things. He even learned to collect bottles and cardboard to sell.
Burton looked exhausted and heartbroken, swearing he'd work hard to give us a good life again.
But it never once crossed my mind that the whole bankruptcy, from start to finish, was nothing but a lie.
It was midafternoon, and there were no other customers in the diner.
I was crying and screaming like a madwoman, and the whole scene seized up into something unbearable.
The wind chime at the door rang, and my six-year-old son came running inside.
"Mom, why don't you have the food yet? We have to hurry!"
When he saw Burton was there too, he stopped short, and without thinking, held up the soda he'd been cradling to show him.
"Dad, I saved a drink for you!"
My eyes stung.
It was an ice-cold soda a customer had handed him while he was out doing deliveries with me.
He'd thanked the customer, so happy, and told me to take a sip first to cool off. He hadn't let himself touch it, just tucked it away like a treasure and grinned sweetly at me.
"Dad works hard too. Let's save some for him."
Burton stood frozen where he was, guilt and something moved surfacing in his eyes.
The son in front of him was dressed in shabby clothes, thin and small from never having enough to eat.
And the little girl sitting safe and settled beside the woman had soft, fair skin, dressed up like a delicate doll.
