My Boyfriend Spent My Mother's Lifeline on His Mistress

Friday morning, I woke up at six.

I checked my phone before I opened my eyes. No notifications. I pulled up the bank app. The balance hadn't changed. I refreshed it. Refreshed it again.

Nothing.

I told myself it was early. Wire transfers took time. Maybe the bank was slow. Maybe Ryder's accountant hadn't processed it yet. Maybe a dozen reasonable things.

By eight, I was sitting on the edge of the bed with the phone hot in my palm, staring at the screen.

I called him.

Voicemail. His voice smooth and confident: *You've reached Ryder Matthews. Leave a message and I'll get back to you.*

I hung up. Called again.

Voicemail.

I texted: **Ryder. The wire. Please call me.**

I watched the little delivered receipt appear. Then I watched it sit there.

By ten, I was at the hospital.

Margaret was in her room, propped up on pillows, looking smaller than she had the day before. The monitors beeped their steady rhythm. She smiled when I came in.

"Morning, sweetheart."

"Morning, Mom."

I sat in the chair by her bed and pulled out my phone again. Still nothing. I refreshed the bank app. The balance mocked me.

"Everything alright?" Margaret asked.

I looked up. Her eyes were sharp. She'd always been able to read me.

"Yeah," I said. "Everything's fine."

She didn't believe me. I could tell. But she didn't push. She just reached over and squeezed my hand.

I pressed my thumb hard against the inside of my wrist under the blanket. The pressure helped. It always did.

By noon, I couldn't sit still anymore.

I kissed Margaret's forehead and told her I'd be back soon. She nodded. The monitors kept beeping.

I took a cab to Midtown.

Ryder's office was in one of those glass towers that looked like it cost more than most people's lives. I walked through the lobby, past the security desk, and took the elevator to the fourteenth floor.

His assistant was at her desk. Young. Blonde. The kind of smile that was paid to be there.

"Hi," I said. "Is Ryder in?"

She glanced at her screen. "Oh, he left early today. Team celebration."

I blinked. "Celebration?"

"Yeah." She smiled wider. "Big win for Chandler. Sales record or something. They're all down in the garage."

The garage.

I didn't say anything. I just turned and walked back to the elevator.

The parking garage was three levels down. The air smelled like oil and exhaust. I stepped out into the dim fluorescent light and heard voices echoing off concrete.

Laughter. Applause.

I walked toward it.

They were gathered in a circle near the executive spots. Twenty people, maybe more. Ryder stood at the center, champagne glass raised, his other hand resting on the hood of a car.

Not just any car.

An Aston Martin DB11. Midnight blue. Wrapped in a red bow the size of a person.

Chandler stood beside him, beaming, her hand on the door handle like she was already imagining herself inside.

Ryder's voice carried across the garage. Warm. Proud.

"—couldn't have done it without you, Chandler. Seriously. Record-breaking quarter. You earned this."

She laughed. That light, effortless laugh she always had. "Oh my God, Ryder. You didn't have to do this."

"Yes, I did," he said. He clinked his glass against hers. "To the best VP of Sales in the city."

Everyone cheered.

I stood at the edge of the circle. No one noticed me.

I looked at the car. The bow. The champagne. The way Chandler's hand lingered on Ryder's arm.

I pulled out my phone and opened the browser. Typed in *Aston Martin DB11 price.*

The number loaded.

$1.5 million.

I stared at it.

Then I looked up at Ryder. At the man I'd given everything to. The man I'd bled for. The man who'd looked me in the eyes three days ago and sworn *on his life* that the money would be wired by Friday.

He was smiling. That easy, charismatic smile that had made me fall in love with him in the first place.

I pressed my thumb against my wrist so hard I thought the bone might crack.

No one saw me.

I turned and walked back to the elevator.

My hands were shaking when I pressed the button. The doors slid open. I stepped inside.

As they closed, I heard Chandler's voice one more time, bright and delighted:

"Ryder, you're literally the best."

The elevator rose.

I stood in the center of it, alone, staring at my reflection in the polished steel doors.

I understood now.

I understood exactly what I was worth to this man.

Nothing.