A House of Lies

When my four sons were finally old enough for preschool, I arrived at the school office with my marriage certificate and their birth certificates, ready to sign them up.

But the lady at the counter frowned and said, "These documents don't check out. According to the system, your kids don't even exist."

I felt as if the floor had dropped out from under me. I remembered when Sheldon Clem and I got married—he was the one who handled all the paperwork, the birth registrations, everything.

I never imagined that when I tracked him down with our four boys, he'd be holding his childhood sweetheart in his arms, with her little girl snuggled against him.

And then we heard him sweet-talking her right in front of us.

"Don't be mad, babe. I've got everything set up for us overseas. Gigi is going to the most expensive private school, and you'll be living in the nicest penthouse downtown.

"Sure, she gave me four sons, but all my love and money are with you. I only kept her around because I felt sorry for her.

"What else do you need? My will's already signed. Everything goes to you and Gigi."

Riley Anderson pouted, smug and satisfied. "If you don't love her, then she's the other woman, not me. She's got no right to fight me for anything!"

So he never went bankrupt.

When we got back home, Sheldon acted as if nothing had happened. "Honey, I've found this amazing project overseas, so I won't have time to come home much. I'll need you to hold down the fort at home."

I smiled and nodded. "Sure, go ahead."

If that was how he wanted to play this, then fine. I'd make sure he really went broke, and then I'd find my boys a new father.

Sheldon Clem froze for a second, as if he hadn't expected me to agree that easily.

I turned and walked into the kitchen to start dinner for the kids.

Sheldon trailed after me. "So… the project needs a lot of startup cash. I already used all our savings."

"Alright," I said without looking up.

That was his style—make the choice first, then tell me after.

The difference was that before, I thought he was taking risks for this family. Now I knew he'd been bleeding me dry for Riley Anderson, his childhood sweetheart.

"I want to refinance the house, too," he added.

I stopped what I was doing, my hands frozen in the sink, and turned to stare straight at him.

"You really want your four three-year-old sons to end up homeless?"

This house wasn't much, just a small three-bedroom, but it was ours—the one we'd fought for, saved for, and sacrificed for.

The mortgage wasn't even close to being paid off. His name was on the deed because when we first bought it, I had been out of town on business. He'd told me it would be easier that way, with him making the payments.

Back then, I