On My Shift, I Found My Husband's Other Family

The day before Thanksgiving, my husband, David, dragged his suitcase to the airport, claiming he was flying to Seattle to meet an important client.

My parents took my younger brother to Miami for a vacation and conveniently took my six-year-old daughter with them.

With the house empty, I picked up a last-minute catering shift that paid double the usual hourly rate. I needed the extra money to cover next month's rent and buy David a gift. So I temporarily filled in as a dinner server at a mansion in Beverly Hills.

After changing into a black-and-white uniform, I entered the employer's home through the service entrance.

The person in charge was the lady of the house—a young, beautiful blonde.

She had barely led me through the hallway toward the main room when I saw several workers hanging a massive engagement portrait on the central wall.

The man in the photograph, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, was my husband of six years.

David.

I froze where I stood, my mind going completely blank.

"Move it a little to the left. Yes, that's it. Straighten it!" the blonde girl called out to the workers.

Then she turned toward me.

"What? Can't take your eyes off it? That's my fiancé."

She looked me up and down, her voice dripping with condescending, fake sympathy.

"Working on a major holiday? I guess you're not married yet."

I closed my eyes and took a slow, deep breath.

"I am. But I'll be a widow very soon."

The girl covered her mouth and giggled, completely missing the meaning behind my words.

"You're hilarious. Making jokes that dark on a holiday." She tossed her hair over her shoulder.

"Honestly, women don't need to work this hard. David would never let me get a job. He says making money is a man's responsibility. My job is to have good taste and focus on planning parties and choosing art."

I said nothing and walked straight toward the other end of the room.

The entire marble kitchen alone was worth more than the shabby apartment David and I had squeezed into for three years.

I picked up a knife and mechanically began slicing lemons and preparing the drinks.

Looking at the expensive figs, black truffles, and champagne lined up on the counter, I remembered the day after my miscarriage.

I could barely straighten my back, yet I still had to put on plastic gloves and scrub toilets in wealthy neighborhoods, then wash dishes at a restaurant at night—all so I could cover the massive debt David's business partner had left behind after running off with their money.

Back then, no one gave me even a single day to rest.

The girl, Chloe, took a sip of champagne and came over. Her eyes swept over my rough hands, and she gave an exaggerated sigh of sympathy.

"Hard work, isn't it? David told me he went through that kind of struggle too." She smiled sweetly. "That's why he works so hard now. He wants to make it up to me with the finest life money can buy."

The knife in my hand stopped.

"David struggled?"

Chloe took another sip, a hint of contempt entering her eyes.

"Of course. He had terrible luck back then. He married this unemployed lunatic." She rolled her eyes. "As if being completely uncultured wasn't bad enough, she was an alcoholic and drug addict who turned the whole house into a disaster. She dragged David down for years."

I whipped around and stared at her.

"Drug addict?"

She nodded without the slightest hesitation.

"Yep. She was completely insane, but luckily, she died young. She got high one night, went speeding in her car, and drove straight off a cliff."

The instant the word "died" left her mouth, the sharp blade sliced into my index finger.

Blood dripped onto the cutting board. Lemon juice seeped into the open wound, sending a sharp sting through my finger. Somehow, the pain finally snapped my numb mind back into focus.

She screamed and stumbled backward.

"Oh my God! Be careful! Don't get blood on the expensive marble! David's parents are arriving any minute, and tonight's dinner absolutely cannot be ruined by something so unlucky!"

I tore off a sheet of paper towel and clamped it tightly over the wound.

When I looked up again, my gaze froze on her earlobes.

Under the crystal chandelier, a pair of antique teardrop emerald earrings swayed with every movement.

I knew them all too well.

Two years ago, I had worked night shifts for an entire year and spent every penny of my savings buying them back from a pawnshop as a gift for my mother-in-law.

That arrogant old woman had complained that they reeked of poverty and had refused to even touch them.

I thought she'd locked them away in a drawer.

I never imagined that she'd turned around and handed the heirloom I'd bought with my own blood and sweat to her son, who was now using them to impress this rich heiress.

And now those earrings were sitting openly on the ears of my husband's mistress.

I lowered my head and continued slicing the remaining lemons. The knife struck the marble harder and harder with every cut.

"Your fiancé is certainly generous."

Chloe proudly touched her earlobe.

"Of course. But he didn't buy these." She smiled. "David and his mother went to a lot of trouble to get this family heirloom back from his dead ex-wife."

"His mother said that someone as low-class as her would only tarnish them by touching them. Only someone of my status is worthy of wearing them."

I suddenly wanted to laugh, but I couldn't.

Low-class?

Not worthy?

When he was drowning in $100,000 of debt with nowhere left to turn, I worked three jobs a day and used these hands, covered in chilblains and cracked skin, to dig him out of that hole.

He had knelt on the floor, crying and swearing that once he made it back to the top, he would make me the happiest wife in the world.

And now he could afford a Beverly Hills mansion.

Yet somehow, he'd turned me into the nameless dead woman he'd tell everyone had been nothing but white trash.

"All right. Go take care of that cut. Things will get better eventually."

Chloe pulled a twenty-dollar bill from her wallet and tossed it onto the counter.

"Be smart tonight. Don't look so miserable. Consider it an early tip."

I pulled another clean sheet of paper towel over the blood on the cutting board and casually pushed the bill away.

"Thank you."

I didn't even look up. My voice was eerily calm.

"Just so I don't get the host's name wrong tonight, may I confirm his last name? David..."

Chloe adjusted her hair in the mirror, looking completely lovestruck.

"Walker. David Walker."

"He's absolutely perfect."

I nodded and dropped the sliced lemons into a crystal glass filled with ice.

"Yeah. Pretty perfect."

I murmured under my breath.

"Perfect enough to make me want to throw him a funeral right now."

Just then, laughter suddenly drifted in from the foyer.

"What did you say?" Chloe turned around, but she clearly wasn't interested in my answer. Her attention had already flown elsewhere. "Never mind! Get the drinks ready. David and his parents are here."

She happily gathered up her skirt and hurried outside to greet them.

I stood behind the dim bar, watching the ice tumble inside the machine.

A bone-deep hatred spread from my fingertips through my entire body.

The husband who had lied about going to Seattle on business.

The David Walker who used the money I'd earned through blood and sweat to spoil a rich heiress, used the earrings I'd bought to impress his mistress, and went around telling everyone I deserved to die without a trace.

The familiar, overly polite voices of my in-laws drifted in from outside.

Then came the deep voice I'd listened to for six whole years.

"Sweetheart, I'm home."

I curled my lips into a faint smile, dropped the blood-stained paper towel into the trash, and picked up the champagne tray.

Happy Thanksgiving, David.

I guarantee this family dinner will be one none of you ever forget.