Jack never took sick days\u2014not for the flu, not for food poisoning, not even the day his mother died. So when he sat hunched at our tiny kitchen table one Tuesday morning, pale and coughing, and told me he wasn\u2019t going to work, I paused mid-toast. \u201cYou okay?\u201d I asked, flicking the blackened bread into the trash. \u201cI feel awful,\u201d he rasped. \u201cYou look worse,\u201d I replied, handing him a bottle of Tylenol. I sent him back to bed and took over the usual morning chaos\u2014packing lunches, wrangling kids, shouting reminders. But when I opened the front door, my brain short-circuited. There, on the porch, stood a perfect, life-sized statue of Jack, down to the faint scar on his chin.<\/p>\n
Behind me, the real Jack shuffled into view, his face draining of color. Without a word, he dragged the statue inside like a corpse, ignoring my demands for an explanation. \u201cI\u2019ll handle it,\u201d he muttered, avoiding my eyes. His haunted expression sent a chill through me, but I forced myself to leave with the kids, promising we\u2019d talk later. As we loaded into the car, Noah handed me a crumpled note he\u2019d found under the statue. My heart sank as I read it\u2014a blackmail threat from a woman named Sally, who\u2019d sculpted Jack after learning he\u2019d lied about being married.<\/p>\n
By noon, I was in a divorce attorney\u2019s office, sliding the note across the desk. \u201cI need proof,\u201d the lawyer said. That evening, I found it\u2014Jack\u2019s laptop open to desperate emails begging Sally not to expose him. I copied everything, sent it to myself, and left him sleeping at the table. The next morning, I reached out to Sally, who confirmed their year-long affair. She agreed to testify, and a month later, we stood in court as the judge granted me full custody, the house, and the money Jack owed her.<\/p>\n