I sold my parents’ lake house and my car to fund my husband’s dream vineyard. I trusted him completely until one call on my way to the bank made me question who he was truly building that life for. I sat on the edge of our worn bed at dawn, watching Alton sleep.
He always slept so soundly, as if no debts or bills existed. I touched his shoulder lightly. “Alton, wake up.
I’m taking the money to the bank today, like we agreed.”
He stirred, rubbing his eyes. “Morning, darling. Up early again, huh?”
“Well, someone has to.”
I rose to brew his coffee, so he could sit in our kitchen and dream of his vineyard.
Five minutes later, he stood in the doorway, reaching for his mug and settling across from me. “Adelaide, you know I love you, right? You’re my anchor.
My everything.”
I gave a small smile. “Tell me again. What’s the plan?”
Alton set his mug down, his arms sweeping wide, as if the vineyard was already his.
“We’ll have our own land, rows of grapes, pure wine, no additives. People will come from miles away. Our name on every bottle.
And that’s just the start!”
“And the kids? When can we send Elias to a better school?”
“Soon, darling, soon. It’ll all come together.
You sold the lake house—that’s the foundation.”
I nodded. That lake house held my last memories of Mom and Dad. But if it helped Alton build his dream…
“Your money’s the final piece.”
I glanced at the envelope on the shelf.
“I’ll deposit it all into your account today.”
“I adore you, you know that?” Alton leaned closer, his fingers grazing my cheek. “No one’s ever done as much for me as you.”
“We’re family, Alton. You said the vineyard is our dream together.”
“Of course, darling.”
He kissed my forehead, so gentle I almost believed him.
“Nothing will tear us apart. You’re my lucky star.”
As he whispered those sweet words, I was already packing to head to the bank. I wanted to help Alton stand on his own.
But ten minutes after that conversation, one phone call turned my world upside down. I walked to the bus stop, clutching the envelope in my bag. My breath fogged in the chilly air, my mind fixed on handing the money to the teller—Alton’s dream, our future, just a short ride away.
Then my phone buzzed. I frowned at the screen. VERONA.
I didn’t know any Verona. Still, I answered. “Hey, love…”
The voice was warm, too intimate for a wrong number.
“You’re not answering. Did she leave yet? I’ve been waiting for you…”
My stomach churned.
My throat tightened. I hung up, fingers trembling. What was that?
I stared at the phone—same scratched screen, same faded case. But it wasn’t mine. “Damn it…”
I rummaged through my bag.
Of course. Alton and I had switched phones that morning. This was his.
Verona’s voice echoed in my head. I froze. The bank could wait.
My eyes scanned the messages Alton hadn’t bothered to hide. “Meet you in thirty.” / “Miss you already.”
It hit me. What if…
In ten minutes, I slipped back into the house and set the phone on the kitchen table, like it had never left.
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