The Day I Let Him Go

Part 2: The Price of His Betrayal

Steven read the property deed three times.

Then he called me.

I watched his name appear on my phone while sitting in a small apartment overlooking Buffalo Bayou.

I let it ring.

He called again.

And again.

On the seventh call, I finally answered.

“Bianca, what the hell is this?”

His voice was sharp, almost angry.

“Good evening, Steven.”

“Why did you empty the house? Where are your things?”

“I moved out.”

“You can’t just leave!”

I almost smiled.

“Interesting. You managed to leave for three days without asking my permission.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

He went silent.

Then he lowered his voice.

“Listen, I know you’re upset. But we need to talk about the properties. That deed doesn’t mean you can make decisions without me.”

“Actually, it does.”

“You’re my wife!”

“Not for much longer.”

I heard him exhale angrily.

“Caroline and I made a mistake. Things got complicated, and I was trying to figure everything out.”

“Did Caroline know you were married when you paid for her apartment?”

Silence.

“Did she know you used our rental income to furnish your new home?”

“Bianca—”

“Did she know you transferred money from our joint savings account?”

“It’s my money too!”

I closed my eyes.

There it was.

The sentence that explained everything.

For eight years, he had treated my work as something we shared, but my sacrifices as something he was entitled to.

“Margaret will contact you,” I said calmly.

“Don’t bring lawyers into this!”

“You already brought another woman into our marriage. I think lawyers are the least of our problems.”

I ended the call.

Ten minutes later, Margaret sent me a message.

The temporary financial protection request has been filed. Do not transfer or withdraw any disputed funds until we receive further instructions.

I put my phone down.

For the first time in months, I slept peacefully.

Steven, however, apparently had a different night.

The following morning, Caroline called me.

I nearly ignored it, but curiosity made me answer.

“Bianca?”

Her voice sounded sweet, almost apologetic.

“Yes?”

“I think we should talk woman to woman.”

I looked out the window.

“About what?”

“Steven and me.”

I said nothing.

She continued.

“I know this situation is painful, but Steven and I have a history. We never really stopped caring about each other.”

“How romantic.”

“Please don’t be sarcastic. He told me your marriage had been over for a long time.”

I laughed softly.

“Did he also tell you the money he used to pay for your apartment came from our rental properties?”

She hesitated.

“What?”

“Eleven thousand seven hundred dollars. And that’s only what I’ve discovered so far.”

“That can’t be right.”

“Ask him.”

Her voice changed.

“Steven said he owned those properties.”

“He said many things, apparently.”

I heard her breathing become uneven.

“Bianca, I didn’t know.”

“You knew he was married.”

Another silence.

Then she whispered, “I thought he was going to divorce you.”

“He is.”

I paused.

“But you should probably ask him what happens when the woman he’s leaving owns the properties he’s planning to live in.”

I ended the call.

That afternoon, Margaret informed me that Steven had requested a meeting.

He wanted to negotiate.

I agreed.

We met two days later in Margaret’s office.

Steven arrived wearing the same navy suit he had worn when he left. His eyes were tired, and he looked considerably less confident than he had in our kitchen.

Caroline wasn’t with him.

He sat across from me.

“Bianca, we need to stop this nonsense.”

Margaret placed a folder on the table.

“This is a legal discussion, Mr. Mercer. Let’s keep it professional.”

Steven ignored her.

“I want to save our marriage.”

I looked at him.

“Why?”

He frowned.

“Because eight years mean something.”

“They did to me.”

He leaned forward.

“I made a mistake.”

“No, Steven. You made a series of decisions. The storage unit. The apartment. The money. The lies. Those weren’t mistakes.”

He rubbed his face.

“Caroline and I aren’t together anymore.”

I stared at him.

“Already?”

He looked uncomfortable.

“She got upset when she found out about the money.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

“So she loved you until she discovered you weren’t paying for everything with money that wasn’t yours?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither was what you did.”

Margaret opened the folder.

“We have documentation of the transfers, the property ownership records, and the payments made to Ms. Vance. Our client is prepared to proceed with the divorce and resolve the remaining financial matters through the appropriate legal process.”

Steven looked at the documents.

His face gradually lost color.

“Bianca, please. We can work this out privately.”

I stood.

“I spent eight years working things out privately, Steven. I’m finished.”

He reached for my hand.

I stepped back.

“Don’t you love me anymore?”

For a moment, I remembered the man I had married.

The man who once drove across Houston in the middle of the night because I had a fever.

The man who promised we would grow old together.

But memories weren’t a reason to remain somewhere I was no longer respected.

“I loved you enough to keep choosing you,” I said. “You simply stopped choosing me.”

Then I walked out.

And this time, I didn’t look back.