I almost laughed.
Just then, Ethan’s car pulled in. He stepped out—jeans, hoodie, no performance. He positioned himself near my door without making a scene.
“You okay?” he asked, looking only at me.
Mark scoffed. “This is between me and my wife.”
“She asked for help,” Ethan said calmly. “I showed up.”
Mark turned to me. “You’re dragging him into this? After I said I could handle it?”
“You didn’t offer to handle anything,” I replied.
In that moment, I understood the test had reached its final question:
Who respects me?
I took a breath and pulled the lottery ticket from my wallet.
“I didn’t text for money,” I said. “I texted for honesty.”
I opened the fold just enough for the numbers to show.
“And I just got it.”
Mark froze.
“That’s real?” he whispered.
“Now tell me who you really are,” I said quietly, “before I decide what you deserve.”
His expression changed instantly.
“Baby,” he said softly, “why would you hide that? I’m your husband.”
“She asked you for help,” Ethan said. “You blamed her.”
Mark ignored him.
“This could fix everything,” he said. “We’ve been stressed.”
I thought of Mom’s sigh. Kyle’s joke. Lauren’s emoji. Mark tracking my location.
And Ethan’s message: I’m coming.