My Husband Died, the Debt Didn't

Seeing that I was even willing to put the house on the line, Evangeline realized I was serious and immediately flew into a rage.

"What good does putting the house up do? You're still short over four million dollars! How are you supposed to come up with that?

"Forget about three days! You and Shawn won't even have a place to stay. Are you planning to freeze to death on the street in this weather?"

As soon as she finished, she shoved a new copy of the agreement right up in my face.

But I just slipped my arm through hers and pretended to be all sad and pitiful. "Evangeline, you're my best friend. I know you wouldn't have the heart to see me and Shawn end up on the streets, right?"

Her eyes widened a fraction as she instinctively pulled her arm back. "I… I…"

The neighbor slapped her thigh. "Maribel, your friend here looks like a really loyal friend. I remember you used to help her look after her kid before, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Her son is about the same age as mine. They even have very similar-looking eyes. People who don't know better might even think they're brothers—"

Evangeline's eye twitched, and she cut me off before I could even finish. "O-Of course I wouldn't let you end up sleeping on the streets. Since you don't have a house anymore, you can just come stay at my place. We're… best friends, after all."

Her voice trailed off at the end, terrified I might notice something was off.

…

That very night, I moved into Evangeline's house with Shawn. The nearly 1,500-square-foot apartment was understated but undeniably luxurious, with crystal chandeliers, huge oil paintings on the wall, and a full wall of wine cabinets.

This was the first time Evangeline had ever let me into her home.

Opening my mouth in exaggerated shock, I gasped, "Evangeline, I had no idea you'd been living this well these past few years."

"It's a rental," she stammered. "The landlord was desperate to lease it out, so I got a great deal."

Oh, really? I ran my fingers along the subtle markings on the edge of the frame—Harlow Group's logo.

All the items in this place had clearly been bought by Julian for Evangeline and her son. Otherwise, how could she, with her 3,000-dollar-a-month salary, possibly afford to live in a place like this?

If Julian hadn't suddenly dropped dead, I would have cracked his skull open just to get some answers.

Why the hell had he pretended to be poor?

By day, he lived with me in a cramped, few-hundred-square-foot apartment, living hand to mouth. By night, he came here, holding another woman in a multimillion-dollar home.

Was this some kind of sick hobby of his?

I'd been married to Julian for over ten years. When we got married, he had nothing to his name. I hadn't hesitated in the slightest to let him move into the family house my parents had left me.

My parents had died young, so when I met a man like Julian, who had been willing to cook for me and take care of me, I immediately gave him my whole heart.

Back then, when he'd said he'd wanted to strike out on his own, I handed over all the savings I'd scraped together from years of work and let him take his shot.

Who knew he'd only lose the money over and over again?

I thought that since he didn't have money to throw around, he couldn't get into too much trouble.

What I never imagined was that not only was he rich, but he also had another woman on the side. And the very mistress who kept him from coming home was none other than my best friend of many years, the one I'd told everything to.

I roughly estimated the furnishings and decor in Evangeline's home. Any single item was probably worth enough to cover that five-million-dollar debt.

Yet what she wanted was for me and Shawn to fall into the depths of hell, without even a grave to rest in.

How could I not hate her?