Valerie
I was exhausted from taking care of the girls and cleaning the house. How did Mom manage? Marriage wasn't what I expected, but I have nobody to blame but myself. Steve started dating a woman he met through work. The partners didn't care as long as I remained married to him. It was getting increasingly difficult to keep up the charade.
My marriage was a failure because of me. Stephanie thinks Steve would have stepped out on me anyway. I'm not sure how she could sound so confident. Steve was devoted to me until I messed up everything. Why me? Why did I let Joseph Morelli talk me into sleeping with him?
Steve started hiding more of his paycheque until I got forced to work. Angie had just turned two. Christmas was just over a month away. I couldn't afford to visit Mom and Dad in Trenton. Stephanie couldn't come to LA because she had to work.
Something else was going on with Stephanie, but she wasn't talking. I only knew Ranger left on a mission and would be gone for another few months. Stephanie bravely acclimated to her situation. She said it won't be that way forever. I heard other people talking in Spanish in the background. It shocked me when Stephanie replied to one of the women.
"When did you start speaking Spanish?" I asked.
"A few months ago. You know I speak Italian, so understanding Spanish was easy. It took me a few months to remember the Spanish version of the words to respond," Stephanie replied.
"I couldn't learn Italian," I sighed. It was something I wish I had learned.
"Mom wouldn't let you," Stephanie reminded me. "I sent a birthday gift for Angie. You can exchange the clothes in LA if they don't fit. How's everything at home?"
"Thanks. I'm sure Angie would love whatever you bought," I replied. I sat Angie at the table with a snack. She smiled and shoved the cookie into her mouth. I tugged it out and reminded her to take smaller bites.
"Val? Are you okay?" Stephanie asked.
Sighing, I replied, "I start work next week. Steve cut back the allowance. I had to get a job. The woman next door and her daughter are babysitting for me. I'll pay them a flat rate for the week for both girls. Britany, the mother, said she'd even watch the girls if they got sick. Bethany will babysit after school until I get home from work."
"Oh, Val. I'm sorry you have to work sooner than expected. But it's probably for the best. You'll have your own spending money. Did you open an account that Steve can't access?" Stephanie wondered.
"Yes, Mom, I did," I teased. Stephanie giggled. She thought it was funny how their roles reversed as they got older. "Steph, I opened the account as soon as you told me to. I transferred the money I saved on groceries into that bank. It's probably why Steve cut back on the allowance."
"What makes you think that? Did your passbook get moved or something?"
"Or something," I replied. It was in my purse, but there was a smear of god-knows-what inside the cover. The mark was too big to have been caused by Angie or Mary Alice.
"Wow. Did Steve cut the allowance by the amount you managed to save every week?"
"Yup," I answered, popping the p. There was no way to save the money to take the girls to Trenton. I supposed Dad or Mom would send me the funds if I asked. Actually, Mom would tell me to fix my marriage with Steve. She wouldn't understand the situation.
I was certain Mom would love to know her granddaughters are Morellis. After all, that was what she said after Stephanie refused to return home to marry Dickie Orr. Mom wanted Stephanie to marry Joseph Morelli. It would never happen. I burned that bridge. Something told me that Stephanie was unavailable.
My first week at work was dreadful, not because I couldn't do the job, but because I missed my daughters. Britany assured me that the girls were okay. I called during every break to check on them.
It took a few months before I stopped calling Britany. She understood my trepidation of having another woman raise my children. Britany spends more time with my daughters than I do. Angie and Mary Alice help release my guilt with a smile.
"Mary Alice is energetic," Britany announced when I picked up the girls after work.
"Did she nap?" I asked. Mary Alice was almost seven months old. She started crawling a few days earlier. I got my exercise by chasing after her.
"Only in the afternoon. I tried to get Mary Alice down for a morning nap, but she refused," Britany replied.
It was going to be a long night. Working, cooking, cleaning and raising my daughters was the daily routine. I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep it up. It would take a few years to save enough money to go home. Flights from LA weren't cheap. Stephanie offered to help, but I had to do it myself.
"Thanks, Britany," I said. Britany helped me carry the girls home.
The girls were quiet as I cooked dinner. Steve arrived as I set the food on the table. He smiled and thanked me for supper. A red smear of lipstick was on Steve's collar. I detected a hint of flowery perfume and sex. Steve wasn't hiding the affair.
"How was your day?" Steve asked. I immediately got defensive. Steve never asked about my day.
"Busy," I replied, wiping my mouth with a napkin. I was typically chatty but didn't want to talk to Steve about my life. Instead, I countered, "How was your day?"
"I met with Natalia for lunch," Steve answered, watching for a reaction.
I worked with Natalia Vicenza. She was gorgeous with light brown hair and blue eyes. Natalia was Italian. She bragged about having a hot lunch date, smirking as she passed my desk. I was the receptionist at Belkin, Bruser and Donnelly Accountants. Natalia Vincent was a licensed CPA. The woman was tall at five-foot-ten, six inches taller than me.
"That's nice," I said, unwilling to admit I knew the woman he was dating. It seemed Steve purposely dated a woman where I would be working. I wondered if Steve had a hand in them hiring an inexperienced receptionist. Steve knew where I applied for jobs. The calendar I hung on the refrigerator had all my appointments recorded. It was the only way I could keep everything organized.
"You know Natalia. Her last name is Vicenza."
I refused to dignify Steve's announcement with a response. He grinned before getting up from the table. Steve rinsed his plate and then put it inside the dishwasher. It was the first time he did that. My husband never helped with domestic chores.
The farce I called my marriage had to end. Steve was flaunting the affair in my face. It was mentally abusive. "You don't need to rub it in," I snapped when Steve taunted me.
"Valerie, you're throwing stones in glass houses. Your affair is always in my face. The girls are a daily reminder," Steve yelled. It was the first time I heard him raise his voice.
"Why now, Steve?" I demanded. Steve left the kitchen, grabbing Angie from the high chair. He took her upstairs to bed. It was the first time he carried Angie. Steve returned to take Mary Alice to her room. I heard the doors close before he ran down the stairs.
"Do you want to know why I'm doing this, Saint Valerie?" Steve mocked. "I could have forgiven your first affair if you told me. But no, Saint Valerie would never cheat on her fiancé. Why would she confess to fucking my best man, my best friend, Joseph asshole Morelli? Then you had to repeat that incident by hopping into his bed at some seedy motel off Route 1 and getting pregnant with his bastard again. Fool me once; shame on you. Fool me twice; shame on me."
"Please," I sarcastically said. "You started fucking around after your work trip when I was pregnant with Angie. Tell me, Steve, did you cheat on me when you washed your clothes that first time and lie about spilling coffee?"
Steve stood to his full height as he trapped me against the kitchen counter. "At my bachelor party, Candy gave me head until I ejaculated inside her mouth. I told you about it. You had plenty of time to confess fucking Joseph Morelli, but you didn't. It could only mean one thing. You didn't expect me to find out. Right? I had to know what you were hiding from me. When you visited Trenton for Christmas, I searched our bedroom for evidence. Do you know what I found, Saint Valerie?"
I shook my head. Realization hit me like a brick wall. Steve found the paternity test. He confirmed by saying, "I found the results, proving I was not Angie's father."
"I thought Mary Alice was yours," I cried.
"We both know she isn't. Why do you think I got the paternity test on the girls?" I shook my head, not able to answer. "Your best friend told my mom about leaving the nightclub with Joseph Morelli. The Plums' neighbour caught you entering the house early in the morning."
Tears trailed down my cheeks, dripping off my chin. Steve never mentioned how he uncovered the intel. I had to know. "How did you find out about the strip club?"
Steve laughed sardonically. "From the Italian Stallion himself," Steve replied. "That "work trip" was a vacation. I went home to visit my parents and talk to Morelli. For a cop, he gave up the intel too easily. I plied him with alcohol until he confessed his sins."
I couldn't believe Joe Morelli betrayed me. He swore nobody would find out about our hookup. Morelli promised to keep our secret. Joe lied. He took advantage of my naivety. I wondered if Morelli knew how I felt about him and used it against me.
"Why did you run a paternity test on the girls?" I asked, my voice shook from despair.
"There was a fifty-fifty chance I was Mary Alice's father. I needed the proof to get the judge to rule in my favour to remove me as their legal guardian. You can't sue me for child support when we get divorced. Believe me, Valerie; we will get a divorce. Like you, I'm biding my time until I have enough money to leave."
"I can get fifty percent of your assets accumulated during our marriage," I threatened.
Steve laughed and released me from the counter. He shook his head as he walked away. What did Steve know? Wasn't I entitled to fifty percent of his assets since we married? I know his inheritance was off-limits. The prenuptial agreement protected him. Where did I put that document? There was something else in it that I was forgetting. Something vitally important. What was it?
I remembered where I left the document. It was in my bedroom at my parents' house, inside a shoebox in the closet. Maybe Mom or Dad could send me a digital copy. Dad would know how to scan and email them. Instead of calling, I texted Dad, asking him to find the paperwork.
Dad promised to send a copy the following day. His home printer didn't have scan-to-email or fax capabilities. He'd have to send it to the fax machine in Steve's home office from the lodge. I gave Dad the number and told him to send it during my lunch break the following day. Hopefully, I could find the part I was thinking about.
The following day, Dad sent the fax. I read over the prenuptial agreement and sighed. The document may have gotten signed in New Jersey, but it was still legal in California. I screwed myself out of receiving half the marital assets. What was I going to do?