I reached into my bag and placed the phone on the table.
The screen was still on.
The messages were still visible.
Matthew lunged for it.
I pulled it back.
“Sit down,” I said.
He didn’t sit.
He stood over me.
“Give me that phone.”
“No.”
“You’re making a fool of yourself.
In front of my family.
On our anniversary.”
I looked around the table.
His uncle was staring at the phone.
His aunt had her hand over her mouth.
One of the cousins was already standing up.
“Matthew,” his uncle said.
“What is she talking about?”
“Nothing.
She’s upset.
She’s been stressed lately —”
“I’m not upset,” I said.
“I’m informed.”
I stood up.
The chair scraped the floor.
I placed the prenup folder, the court records, and the burner phone in a line on the table.
“You married Catherine for her trust fund.
You used the same prenup.
The same clause.
Your mother helped you plan it.
I have your messages.
All of them.
Every text where you talked about waiting for the right moment.
Every text where you called me a target.”
Margaret’s voice came from behind me.
“You don’t understand what you’re doing.
If you walk out that door —”
“I already called a lawyer, Margaret.
She’s in the car outside.
Would you like to meet her?”
Margaret’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Matthew grabbed my arm.
“You’re not leaving.
We can fix this.
We can talk about it.
Just put the phone down and —”
