Page 19 of Cruel Lies

TODD: lmaooo she actually thinks I'm at the gym

It's a text message. Mirrored, live, right here on my daughter's tablet, because at some point, my husband signed Isabella's iPad into his own Apple ID and never once considered that this would mean his entire iMessage history would beam itself, in real time, into the hands of a child.

Which means, indirectly, to me.

I stare at it, unable to believe (a) my good luck and (b) my husband's idiocy.

"Mommy? Is it working?"

"Yeah, lovebug. One sec." I fix the llama and hand the tablet back. With my help, we decide that a festive sombrero on the llama is a fitting way to celebrate Cinco de Mayo.

That night, after the kids are down, I pull the iPad's full message archive. I scroll up, and up, and up.

The text message thread is gold. They've resorted to every cheaters’ cliché in the book. I see eggplant emojis, kissy lips, nudes (in both directions; let's just say that Todd needs some boudoir photography lessons and leave it at that), and lots of "I'm in Room 214" type rendezvous confirmations.

But that's not all.

In Todd's email, drowning amidst all his work stuff, his golf course reservations, and his various OnlyFans subscriptions updates… is something from DocuSign.

It stops my thumb cold in its tracks.

Your document has been completed (3).

The first document is a formation packet for a Delaware LLC called "Bradshaw Holdings." Buried in the operating agreement is a provision parking what it calls his "founder's interest"…

… inmycompany.

My company.

Myfucking company.

He's trying to steal my company.

I'm shuddering with a fresh surge of rage as I flip to the next signed document. This one is a lease for a one-bedroom in Murray Hill. A bolt-hole, a landing pad.

The third and final piece is the one that makes me set the laptop down on the duvet and press both palms flat against my own sternum like I'm performing CPR on myself.

A retainer agreement from The Akov Firm.

I don't know the name. But I know what a retainer agreement is, and I know what it means when your husband has signed one and hidden it and said nothing.

He has a lawyer.

He has a foxhole to hide in.

And he's planning to steal my company on his way out the door.

I forward all three documents to myself, then delete all traces of the message. Once I'm back on my own computer, I add them to a growing folder.

Receipts.

Tipped off by the LLC formation packet, I go hunting. It doesn't take me long to find the fourth piece. This one turns my stomach the most, because it predates everything.

To find it, I pull my own company's formation documents—the ones I filed years ago, back when I thought "tax and legal housekeeping" was a thing my husband did for me out of love because I was too busy actually building the product to deal with the administrative paperwork.

Sure enough, there he is. Listed as a registered agent. An officer.

I put him there myself, and my own signature is scribbled across the bottom. I remember Todd sliding the papers across the table, saying,Just sign here, babe, it's a tax thing, you don't want to deal with this stuff.I did it without thinking. Why wouldn't I? That's what you do when you've exchanged vows.