She rushed out of her room without saying another word. I really needed to find a way to curb her wake-up-at-three-in-the-morning routine ASAP, but a part of me liked it. It was our special time together.

I put on a sweatshirt and sent my wife a quick email.

Subject: Emma.

Taking Emma out to play. Are you still at the coffee shop?

Love you,

Liam

Subject Re: Emma.

What are you going to say when she asks you for a pony?

(Yes, I’m still here…Tax season is going to be the death of me. Want me to bring you a cup back? Want to try a latte?)

I love you more,

Ava

Subject: Re: Re: Emma

Nothing. I’ll just buy the pony.

(No, thank you. You know I really hate coffee.)

Impossible. I love you more than you’ll ever know,

Liam

“I’m ready! I’m ready!” Emma rushed into my room, knocking over a stack of folders. “I’m ready!”

Laughing, I put my phone in my pocket and attempted to stuff the papers back in order—stopping once I saw my signature. Forged.

Confused, I sifted through the other papers-noticing the same thing.

What is this?

“Let’s go, Daddy!” Emma tugged on my pants.

I tucked the folder underneath my arm and clasped her hand. “Your nap today is going to have to last for at least five hours. Do you know that?”

“I don’t like naps.”

“Of course you don’t…” I walked her out of our apartment and to my car. As usual, Ava had slipped a note underneath the windshield wipers.

Dear Husband,

I love you—so very much, and it pains me to see you, someone with as much money and status as you have, driving a car like this. I know you’re modest, and the most expensive suit you own probably costs eighty dollars, but come on! You have to live, Liam!

I’m taking you car shopping next week and I’m not taking no for an answer,

Ava.

PS—Thank you for the roses you sent me yesterday. I got you something special and placed it on your desk at the office.

I smiled and secured Emma into her car seat, giving in when she requested to listen to her favorite song on repeat while riding to the firm.

The sleek design of the building still took people’s breath away when they saw it for the first time. It was the one thing I spared no expense on when constructing; I made sure the translucent gold panels were state of the art, that the law scale statues were properly erected on marble ledges, and that the stone letters above the entrance—“Henderson & Hart” were polished every week.

And, as a giant “fuck you” to the government for burying my first case, the case that should’ve made me a household name and landed me on billboards all over this country, I had the office built right in front of their Social Security Office.

Pulling into the reserved parking spot, I looked in my rearview mirror—seeing that Emma was fast asleep.

Figures…

I stepped out and carried her inside anyway. I was sure she’d wake up soon.

“Good morning, Mr. Henderson.” An intern greeted me as I walked inside.

“Good morning, Laura,” I responded. “Am I in a different time zone today? Why is everyone awake and working right now?”

She blushed. “It’s tax season.”

“I keep hearing that…” I stepped onto the elevator. “I’ll see you later.”

Emma stirred in my arms, murmuring, but only soft snores followed.

When the elevator doors glided open, I walked through the massive “H&H” glass doors headed to Emma’s half-finished playroom. I gently lowered her onto the massive pink bed and tucked her under the covers, whispering “I love you,” before I dimmed the lights.

I took a seat in the corner and pulled out the folder that was under my arm, reading over what seemed like written receipts and accounts of money exchanges. Things I didn’t recall doing.

I pulled out my phone to text Ava, to see if this was just another elaborate joke—something she was prone to pulling, but I heard her voice.

“Fuck!” She yelled.

I jumped up and headed to where the shouting had come from, pausing once I heard a familiar voice.

“Your pu**y feels so f**king good…”

“Ahhhh….” Ava was moaning. “Just f**k me…Fuck me harder…”

I completely froze, unable to take another step. I didn’t want to believe another man—Kevin, from the sound of things, was f**king my wife or that she was cheating on me.

I couldn’t believe it. I trusted her way too much.

But, as she screamed a few more times—the same screams she yelled when having sex with me, I knew it was true.

“Is this how you always conduct business, Mrs. Henderson?” Kevin asked, laughter in his voice.

“Are you seriously going to call me that after we just f**ked?” She groaned. “Can we actually get back to work now? That’s the third interruption tonight and I’d actually like to get something done.”

“Fine, fine…”

Papers shuffled, windows opened, but I remained frozen—still in disbelief. It wasn’t until I peered through the slit of the door that my brain actually began to process what was happening.

“What are we going to do about this Ferguson shit?” Kevin asked.

“Ferguson shit? That’s what we’re calling it?”

“Oh, right. Here’s a better name for it: Five to ten years for me. Fifteen years for you.”