Escort Became Pregnant by a Wealthy Client—Then His Wife Took a Revenge No One Expected
…
“Tell me about your day,” he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
What did you do? Samantha sat down next to him, maintaining a professional distance.
I went to the gym in the morning, then met a friend for lunch.
The lie rolled off her tongue easily.
In reality, she had spent the morning bent over the toilet, then sat for 2 hours in her gynecologist’s office trying to work up the courage to make an appointment.
And your wife, how is she? A shadow crossed Roger’s face.
Mary is going through a difficult time after what happened last year.
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Samantha knew about his wife’s miscarriage.
Roger had told her about it one particularly difficult evening when he needed comfort more than physical intimacy.
I’m sorry, she said sincerely, and she really meant it.
Over the years, she had learned to separate her personal feelings from her professional duties, but sometimes her humanity showed through.
Roger nodded, then abruptly changed the subject.
Let’s not talk about that.
We only have an hour.
An hour was the standard length of their meetings.
Samantha nodded and began to unbutton her dress, but suddenly felt dizzy.
She stopped and pressed her hand to her stomach.
“Are you okay?” Roger asked, concerned.
“Yes, just give me a minute.
” She went into the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and looked at herself in the mirror.
She was pale.
her eyes feverish.
The symptoms were getting worse every day.
When she returned to the room, Roger was already undressing.
His body was in good shape for a man his age, the result of regular workouts at an expensive gym.
His wedding ring lay on the bedside table, as it always did when they were together.
The next hour passed as usual.
Roger was a gentle and attentive lover, which made her work more bearable.
Many of her clients were rude or selfish, but not him.
After they were intimate, he always held her as if she were his real girlfriend, not a prostitute.
I think about you, he whispered in her hair between our meetings.
I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop.
Samantha said nothing.
Such confessions were part of the game, but they always made her feel uncomfortable.
She had learned not to take them to heart.
After their shower, they got dressed in silence.
Roger, as always, left an envelope with money on the dresser.
$500 in cash.
It was good pay for Phoenix, where competition was fierce.
“See you in a week,” he asked at the door.
“Same as always,” Samantha nodded.
“Take care, Roger.
” He left first as always.
Samantha waited 10 minutes, then left the hotel, too.
In the parking lot, she got into her car and took out her phone.
Three missed calls from Tommy.
She dialed his number.
Sam, where are you? Her brother’s voice sounded agitated.
Practice ended an hour ago.
Sorry, baby.
I was busy at work.
I’m on my way home.
What kind of job do you have anyway? Tommy asked with teenage bluntness.
You never say anything specific.
I’m a marketing consultant.
Boring office work.
Lie number 1 million.
Have you eaten? I ordered pizza.
Don’t worry.
Okay, I’ll be home soon.
Samantha hung up and sat in her car for a while, watching the city prepare for the night.
Neon signs began to glow brighter in the twilight, and office buildings lit up one by one.
Somewhere out there in one of the upscale neighborhoods, Roger was returning to his wife, who knew nothing of his double life.
And she was driving home to her brother, who knew nothing of her double life.
Their house was in a middle-ass neighborhood, a small two-story cottage with a small garden that Samantha never had time to tidy up.
She had bought it 3 years ago when her job started bringing in a steady income.
Before that, they had rented an apartment in a less safe neighborhood.
Tommy met her in the living room, sprawled on the sofa with his textbooks, tall for his 16 years, with blonde hair and serious gray eyes.
He looked a lot like their father.
Sometimes the resemblance caused Samantha almost physical pain.
“How’s school?” she asked, sitting down next to him.
“Fine.
Mr. Johnson says I have a good chance of getting a sports scholarship to the state university.
Tommy looked excited if I keep up my grades.
That’s wonderful, honey.
Samantha hugged him.
Dad and mom would be proud.
Their parents had died in a car accident 4 years ago.
A drunk driver ran a red light.
Samantha had just graduated from college and was working as a manager at a small advertising firm.
After the funeral, it turned out that her parents had left more debts than assets.
The insurance only covered part of the expenses.
That was when Samantha first thought about working as an escort.
A college friend told her about an agency that catered to wealthy clients.
“It’s not what you think,” she assured her.
“Intelligent men who pay for company, sometimes more, but only if you want to.
” The first few months were hell.
Samantha cried after every meeting, feeling dirty and empty.
But the money allowed her to support Tommy, pay for his private school, and buy decent clothes.
Gradually, she learned to shut off her emotions, to create a barrier between Samantha and Scarlet.
Sam, are you okay? Tommy’s voice brought her back to reality.
You look pale.
Just tired.
Had a hard day.
She got up from the couch.
I’m going upstairs.
Don’t stay up late doing homework.
Okay.
Good night.
In her bedroom, Samantha took an envelope with money out of her purse and put it in a safe hidden behind a painting.
There was already a decent amount there.
She had been saving for Tommy’s college education, a little more, and she would be able to get out of the business and find a normal job.
She sat down on the bed and took the pregnancy test she had bought that morning out of her bedside table.
Two lines, positive.
Samantha stared at the plastic strip, hoping that the result would somehow change.
But the lines remained, mercilessly confirming her worst fears.
Pregnant by a client by a married man who didn’t even know her real name.
Samantha lay down on the bed, still fully clothed, and closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, she would have to make decisions.
Tomorrow, she would have to think about what to do next.
But today, she allowed herself to just lie there and imagine what her life could have been if everything had been different.
Outside the window, Phoenix twinkled with millions of lights.
A city that never slept and never forgave weakness.
Somewhere in an upscale neighborhood, Roger Collins kissed his wife good night.
His wedding ring lying on the bedside table next to a photo of their family.
Somewhere else, his wife Mary was probably taking a sleeping pill to forget about their lost child.
And here in a modest house in a middle-ass neighborhood, Samantha Reed held a pregnancy test in her hands and realized that her double life was about to collide with reality in the most painful way possible.
Mary Collins woke up at 4 in the morning from a nightmare in which she was holding her stillborn son in her arms again.
The damp sheets clung to her body.
Her heart was beating so hard that it felt like her chest was about to burst.
Roger was sleeping peacefully beside her, his breathing steady and calm.
She envied his ability to switch off from his problems and sink into a care-free sleep.
Mary carefully got out of bed and went to the bathroom.
In the mirror, a pale woman with dark circles under her eyes stared back at her.
She was 42, but she looked older.
Grief had aged her faster than time.
She opened the medicine cabinet and took out the familiar bottle of sedatives.
Dr. Simmons had prescribed them a year ago after she lost her baby in the seventh month of pregnancy.
A temporary measure, he said at the time, to help you get through the hardest part.
But the hardest part seemed to never end.
Mary swallowed the pill and went down to the kitchen.
Their house in the prestigious Scottsdale neighborhood was the embodiment of the American dream.
Spacious, tastefully furnished with a view of the mountains.
Roger was proud of this house and often brought business associates here.
Look what hard work can achieve, he would say, showing guests the panoramic windows and marble countertops.
On the kitchen island lay a stack of magazines that Mary had bought but never read.
House and garden, best homes and gardens, Southern Living, all about how to create the perfect family life.
The irony was that they no longer had a family.
There were only two people living in the house, pretending that everything was fine.
Mary made herself a cup of tea and sat down by the window.
Dawn was just breaking, the sky slowly brightening over the deserted hills.
She remembered how she and Roger had first seen this house 15 years ago.
Back then, he was a young, ambitious businessman who had just opened his first car dealership.
She worked as an administrator at a dental clinic and dreamed of having children.
“Can you imagine?” Roger said, hugging her in the empty living room.
our son will play here or our daughter or maybe both.
He kissed her neck and she felt like the happiest woman in the world.
15 years of trying, 15 years of doctors, tests, procedures, four miscarriages in the early stages, and finally a year ago, the pregnancy reached the seventh month.
They had already chosen a name, Michael, after Roger’s father.
They had already bought a crib, a stroller, toys.
Mary felt that life finally had meaning and then it was all over.
Premature birth, complications, a tiny lifeless body.
The doctors spoke in medical terms, saying that these things happen.
But Mary heard only silence, the silence that should have been filled with the sound of a baby crying.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs brought her back to the present.
Roger was coming down already dressed in a tracksuit.
Good morning, he said, approaching the coffee maker.
Up early again.
I couldn’t sleep.
Mary hugged the teacup with her arms.
The same dream again.
Roger tensed.
He hated it when she talked about her nightmares, about the child she had lost, about her pain.
He preferred to pretend it was all in the past.
“Maybe you should increase the dose of your medication,” he suggested without turning to her.
“Or see a different doctor.
Medication won’t help, Roger.
It’s not a chemical imbalance.
It’s grief.
Mary, we’ve already discussed this.
He turned to her and she saw the exhaustion in his eyes.
You can’t live in the past forever.
That’s easy for you to say.
Mary stood up and walked to the sink.
You didn’t even want to discuss adoption.
We’re not ready for that.
You’re not ready.
I’m ready to love a child.
Isn’t that what matters? Roger didn’t answer.
He picked up his gym bag and headed for the door.
I’m going to the gym, then straight to the office.
I have an important meeting today.
On the weekend, Mary asked in surprise.
Business doesn’t take weekends off.
I’ll be home late tonight.
He kissed her on the cheek.
Quickly, formally, like you kiss a distant relative.
Mary watched his car disappear around the corner.
A black BMW X5, spotless.
Roger changed cars every 2 years as if novelty could fill the void in their lives.
At 9 in the morning, Sandra, her only close friend, called, “How are you, dear?” Sandra’s voice was full of concern.
“I thought maybe we could go shopping today or to the spa.
” “I don’t know, Sandra.
I’m not in the mood.
” “That’s exactly why you need to get out of the house, Mary.
You can’t stay cooped up forever.
” Mary looked at her reflection in the hall mirror.
a house coat, messy hair, puffy eyes.
When was the last time she had been to the hairdresser? When had she bought something for herself? “Okay,” she said finally.
“Let’s meet at the mall.
” 2 hours later, Mary stood in the dressing room of an expensive boutique, looking at herself in the mirror.
The black dress fit perfectly, accentuating the figure she maintained with regular workouts with a personal trainer.
Roger always said he was proud of her appearance.
You look amazing, Sandra said approvingly when Mary came out of the dressing room.
Roger will be thrilled.
Roger hasn’t noticed how I look in a long time.
Mary turned back to the mirror.
Sometimes I feel like I’ve become part of the furniture to him.
Don’t be silly.
He loves you.
Men just deal with grief differently.
Deal with it? Mary smiled bitterly.
He doesn’t even want to talk about it.
He acts like nothing happened.
Sandra took her hand.
Give him time.
You’ve both been through a trauma.
Time? Mary looked at her friend.
It’s been a year, Sandra.
A whole year.
And he still hasn’t gone to therapy with me.
He doesn’t want to talk about the adoption.
He doesn’t even say Michael’s name.
Maybe you should plan a romantic dinner.
Remind him that there’s more to your relationship than grief.
Mary bought a dress.
even though she didn’t know when she would wear it.
At home, she hung it in her closet next to dozens of other outfits she had bought in an attempt to fill the emptiness inside her.
That evening, she prepared dinner steaks, just like Roger liked, and opened a bottle of fine wine.
She set the table in the dining room and lit the candles.
Maybe Sandra was right.
Maybe they just needed to remember that they weren’t just the parents of a lost child, but also a husband and wife.
Roger came home at 10:00.
Tired and distracted, he barely noticed the festive table setting.
I’m sorry, dear, but I already ate.
The meeting ran late, so I had to order food to the office.
I made your favorite steaks.
Mary tried to hide her disappointment.
I know, and it’s very sweet of you, but I’m really full.
He kissed her on the forehead.
Maybe we can save it for tomorrow.
Sure.
Mary began to clear the table.
How was your meeting? Fine.
We discussed a new advertising campaign.
Roger loosened his tie.
I’m going to take a shower.
Mary was left alone in the dining room with candles and cooling stakes.
She blew out the candles and began putting the food in containers.
She poured the wine down the sink.
She didn’t feel like drinking alone.
Later, lying in bed, she listened to Roger taking a shower.
He had always invited her to join him before.
Now the bathroom door was closed.
another barrier between them.
When he lay down next to her, Mary tried to hug him, but Roger gently pushed her away.
I’m tired, honey.
We have to get up early tomorrow.
Roger.
We haven’t been close for 2 months.
Mary’s voice trembled.
I miss you.
I know.
I miss you, too.
We just need time.
How much time? She whispered, but he had already turned to face the wall.
Mary lay in the dark, listening to his breathing.
She used to fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat pressed against his chest.
Now there was a space between them that seemed insurmountable.
The next day, Roger left early as usual.
Mary ate breakfast alone, reading the news on her tablet.
An article about the rise in divorce after the loss of a child caught her attention.
The statistics were grim.
More than half of couples broke up within 2 years of such a tragedy.
We won’t become a statistic, she said aloud to the empty kitchen.
I won’t let that happen.
But deep down, she felt that something fundamental had changed in their relationship.
Roger was becoming increasingly distant, often staying late at work and avoiding serious conversations.
Sometimes Mary caught him staring absently at his phone and smiling at something.
She never checked his phone or asked unnecessary questions.
Trust was the foundation of their marriage.
But now, little doubts were beginning to sprout in her mind like weeds.
That evening, when Roger came home late again, Mary decided to ask him directly.
Roger, is everything okay? Are we okay as a couple? He froze in the doorway, holding his jacket in his hands.
What do you mean? I mean, we’ve become strangers.
You avoid me.
We don’t talk.
We don’t She didn’t finish her sentence.
Mary, we’re both going through a difficult time.
It’s normal.
Normal? Is it normal that my husband can’t even hug me? Is it normal that we live like roommates? Don’t be dramatic.
I’m working longer hours because I want to provide for us.
I want us to have a future.
What future, Roger? We can’t even talk about children because it hurts.
He exploded.
Every time you bring it up, I see the accusation in your eyes as if it’s my fault.
I never blamed you.
Not with words, but I feel it.
I see it in the way you look at me.
Roger sat down on the edge of the bed, his head bowed.
I lost a son too, Mary.
I’m grieving too, but I can’t allow myself to fall apart.
Mary approached him and gently touched his shoulder.
We could grieve together, support each other.
I don’t know how.
Roger’s voice was quiet.
I don’t know how to talk about my feelings.
I never have.
then learn for us.
He raised his head and looked at her.
In his eyes was the pain he had so carefully hidden.
I’m afraid, Mary.
I’m afraid that if we try again, something will go wrong again.
Then we’ll deal with it together as a family.
Roger hugged her, pulling her close.
For the first time in months, Mary felt that they were connected again.
But even in his arms, she sensed that he was keeping something secret, that there was still a wall between them.
That night, they were close for the first time in a long time.
But even in his closeness, Mary felt that Roger was somewhere far away, that his thoughts were preoccupied with something else.
In the morning, she woke up alone.
Roger had already left for work, leaving a note.
I’ll be late.
Important meeting.
Mary stared at the note and felt anxiety rising in her chest again.
Something was wrong.
Something was changing in their relationship, and she couldn’t figure out what it was.
Samantha sat in Dr. Martha Young’s office, staring at the ultrasound image.
The small white dot on the dark background was her baby, 7 weeks, the time when decisions had to be made.
“All the indicators are normal,” said Dr. Yang, a woman in her 50s with kind eyes.
You have time to think, but if you decide to terminate the pregnancy, it’s best not to delay.
How much time? Samantha asked.
In Arizona, the legal limit is 20 weeks, but I recommend making a decision in the next few weeks.
Samantha clutched the photo in her hand.
What if I decide to keep it? Then you’ll need to register, start taking vitamins, and make some lifestyle changes.
The doctor paused.
Does the father know number? and I’m not sure if I should tell him.
That’s your choice, but think about it.
He has a right to know.
Leaving the clinic, Samantha got into her car and took out her phone.
Roger had sent her a message.
Can we meet tonight? Same place.
She stared at the screen for a long time, then typed a reply.
We need to talk.
Seriously.
The reply came a minute later.
Did something happen? See you at 7.
Number 1247.
At home, Tommy was doing his homework at the kitchen table.
When he saw his sister, he looked up.
Sam, you look strange.
What’s wrong? Nothing much, just tired.
She opened the refrigerator, but the smell of cooked food made her feel nauseous.
I’m not going to eat dinner.
I have to meet a client.
Working late again? What kind of clients do you have? Tommy, please, not now.
Samantha’s voice was sharper than usual.
Her brother looked at her intently.
Sam, I’m not a kid.
I can see you’ve been nervous for several days.
What’s going on? Nothing I can’t handle.
She patted him on the head.
Just work problems.
At 7:00 in the evening, Samantha stood at the door of room 1247.
Roger opened it almost immediately.
He looked worried, not as confident as usual.
Scarlet, what’s wrong? Your message.
He didn’t finish his sentence.
Sit down, Roger.
We really need to talk.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and she remained standing by the window.
There was a distance between them that seemed enormous.
“I’m pregnant,” she said bluntly.
Roger turned pale.
“What? You heard me.
7 weeks.
But you always said you were taking them.
” He stumbled, unable to finish his thought.
Birth control isn’t 100% effective.
You know that.
Roger stood up and began pacing the room.
Are you sure? Maybe it’s a mistake.
I took three tests.
I went to the doctor.
There’s no mistake.
Samantha took an ultrasound photo out of her bag.
This is your child.
He took the photo with trembling hands and stared at it for a long time.
My god.
I had to tell you.
You have a right to know.
The right to know.
He repeated mechanically.
What are you going to do? I don’t know.
That’s why we’re talking.
Roger sat down in a chair and buried his head in his hands.
This is impossible.
Not now.
My wife won’t be able to handle this.
Your wife? What about me? What about this child? Scarlet.
You have to understand my situation.
My name is Samantha.
She interrupted him.
Samantha Reed, and I understand your situation better than you think.
He looked up at her in surprise.
Samantha.
Yes, I’m 28 years old.
I have a younger brother whom I’m raising.
I work as an escort because it allows me to provide for both of us.
Samantha’s voice was calm but firm.
Now you know more about me than you did in 2 years.
Why are you telling me this? Because if I have this baby, he needs to know who his father is.
His real father, not some madeup character.
Roger stood up and walked over to the window.
How much money do you need? What? For the abortion, a good clinic, recovery? How much? Samantha felt rage rising inside her.
You think this is just about money? I think it’s the only sensible option for everyone.
For everyone or for you, Samantha, be realistic.
What can you offer a child, a mother who is a prostitute and hides her job from her own brother? The slap sounded loud in the silence of the room.
Roger stood there defenseless with a red mark on his cheek.
“Don’t you dare say that,” Samantha whispered.
“Don’t you dare judge my life.
” “I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean it.
” He rubbed his cheek.
“I didn’t think.
” “Exactly.
You didn’t think.
For 2 years, you took advantage of me, told me about your problems, and I was just an object to you.
” That’s not true.
You mean a lot to me.
enough to acknowledge your child.
Roger was silent for a long time.
I can’t.
My wife lost a child a year ago.
It would destroy her.
What about me? What about our child? I’ll provide for you financially.
I’ll rent an apartment and send you money every month, but I can’t be a father.
I can’t be part of his life.
The secret father of the secret child of your secret lover.
Samantha picked up her bag.
You know what, Roger? I need time to think.
Samantha, wait.
No, I’ve listened to you.
Now it’s my turn to make decisions.
She left, leaving him alone in the room with the ultrasound photo in his hands.
Meanwhile, Mary Collins sat in her car in the parking lot of the Rison Hotel, watching the entrance.
She had been following her husband for a week, ever since she found a receipt from this hotel in his pocket.
When she asked him about it, he said he was meeting a client there.
But clients didn’t meet at hotels that regularly.
Every Tuesday at 7:00 in the evening, Mary checked his work calendar and found no appointments.
At 7:30, a young woman left the hotel.
Dark hair, beautiful figure, elegant clothes.
Mary saw her get into a Honda Civic and drive away.
10 minutes later, Roger came out.
Mary followed the woman to a house in a middle class neighborhood.
She wrote down the address and the car’s license plate number.
The next day, she hired a private investigator.
“Her name is Samantha Reed,” said Detective Michael Torres, handing Mary a folder with photos.
28 years old.
Officially, she works as a marketing consultant, but that’s a cover.
A cover? She’s an escort, high class, serving wealthy clients.
Your husband is one of them.
Mary looked at the photos.
Samantha was leaving a hotel, entering a house, picking up a teenage boy from school.
How long? She asked.
From what I can gather, about 2 years.
Regular meetings, always at the same time.
Mary closed the folder.
Thank you.
That’s all.
Mrs.
Collins, if you plan to meet with her.
I’m not planning anything, Mary interrupted him.
Goodbye.
At home, she sat in the living room with the folder on her lap.
Roger was in the shower, unaware of anything.
Two years.
Two years of cheating, lies, betrayal.
While she was grieving the loss of her child, he was finding comfort in the arms of a young prostitute.
Mary opened the folder again.
In one of the photos, Samantha was talking to a teenager outside a school.
They were laughing and looked happy.
This woman had a family, albeit a small one.
She had what Mary wanted so desperately.
“Honey, are you in bed yet?” Roger’s voice came from the bedroom.
I’m coming, Mary replied quickly, hiding the folder in the desk.
That night, she lay next to her husband, who slept peacefully, unbburdened by guilt.
And somewhere in another house, the woman who had been her husband’s mistress for 2 years was sleeping.
In the morning, after Roger left for work, Mary took out the folder again.
The address, phone number, all the details of Samantha Reed’s life.
She stared at the photos for a long time, then picked up the phone.
“I need to meet with you,” she said when Samantha answered.
“Excuse me, who is this?” “Mary Collins, Roger’s wife.
” There was a long silence on the line.
“I know about you,” Mary continued.
“I know about your meetings.
We need to talk.
” “I don’t think that’s a good idea.
” “Trust me, it’s necessary.
today at 3:00.
The coffee shop on the corner of McDow and 7th Avenue.
Mrs.
Collins, I don’t think if you don’t come, I’ll come to your house, and I won’t care if your brother is there.
Another long pause.
I’ll be there, Samantha finally said.
Mary hung up and looked at herself in the mirror.
For the first time in months, there was fire in her eyes.
At last, she was going to do something.
At 3:00 in the afternoon, two women sat across from each other in a small coffee shop.
Mary was elegant and well-groomed with an expensive handbag and jewelry.
Samantha was young and beautiful, but she looked tired.
You know who I am? Mary began.
Yes.
Samantha didn’t touch her coffee.
Then you know I want you out of my husband’s life.
Mrs.
Collins.
2 years.
Mary interrupted.
Two years you slept with my husband while I was going through the worst time of my life.
I didn’t know about your loss.
Roger only told me recently.
Roger.
Mary smiled.
You call him by his first name.
How sweet.
I don’t want to hurt you.
It’s too late.
You already have.
Mary leaned forward.
But now you have a chance to make things right.
Get out of my life.
No more meetings.
No more phone calls.
Samantha was silent for a long time.
I’m pregnant.
Mary felt the world around her stop.
What? I’m pregnant with your husband’s child 7 weeks.
The coffee cup fell from Mary’s hands and shattered on the floor.
Several customers turned around, but she didn’t notice.
That’s impossible, she whispered.
I was at the doctor’s yesterday.
Do you want to see the picture? No.
Mary stood up and grabbed her purse.
No, I don’t want to see it.
Mrs.
Collins wait, but Mary had already run out of the coffee shop, leaving Samantha alone at the table with the broken cup and the truth that had changed everything.
Mary Collins sat in her car in the shopping center parking lot, her hands shaking as she gripped the steering wheel.
Rain pounded the windshield, blurring the lights of the storefronts.
Samantha’s words echoed in her head like a spell.
I’m pregnant with your husband’s baby.
Pregnant? This woman, this prostitute, was carrying Roger’s child, the child Mary herself wanted so desperately, a child that should have been hers.
Mary took a bottle of sedatives out of her purse and swallowed two pills at once.
Her hands continued to shake.
Chaotic thoughts raced through her mind, about Michael, the son she had lost, about the years of infertility, about how Roger had grown distant from her.
And now this woman had gotten what Mary had dreamed of her entire life.
The phone rang.
Roger.
Honey, where are you? I thought we were meeting at home for dinner.
I was at the mall.
Mary’s voice sounded strange even to her.
Are you okay? You sound upset.
Yes, just tired.
I’ll be home soon.
Okay, I’ll make something to eat.
Roger hung up, unaware that his wife knew the whole truth.
Mary sat in her car for another half hour watching the rain and trying to figure out what to do next.
At home, Roger was indeed preparing dinner.
He looked tense and distracted.
“Mary usually attributed this behavior to work problems, but now she knew the real reason.
” “How was your day?” she asked, sitting down at the table.
“Fine, lots of work.
” Roger didn’t look at her.
How about you? I met up with some friends, did some shopping.
The lie came easily.
How easily Roger had lied to her for 2 years.
They ate in silence.
Mary studied her husband’s face, trying to find signs of guilt, remorse, or at least awkwardness, but he just ate, checking his phone from time to time.
Roger, she said finally.
I want us to try again.
He looked up.
What? A baby? I know we’ve talked about this, but I think we should try again or consider adoption.
Roger pald.
Mary, we’ve discussed this.
I’m 42.
Time is running out.
If we want a family, I’m not ready for this conversation.
He stood up from the table.
Not now.
When then? When will you be ready to discuss our family? Mary, please.
Or do you already have a family? The words came out before she could stop them.
Roger froze at the sink.
What do you mean? Nothing.
Forget it.
Mary got up and went to the bedroom.
She wasn’t ready for a confrontation.
Not yet.
That night, she lay awake, listening to her husband’s breathing.
Somewhere in the city, a woman pregnant with his child was also awake, thinking about the future.
Mary closed her eyes and tried to imagine this woman with a baby bump, then with a newborn in her arms.
Roger’s child, a child that could have been hers.
The next two days passed in a fog.
Mary couldn’t eat and could barely bring herself to take a shower.
She sat at home staring out the window and replaying her conversation with Samantha in her head.
Again and again, she heard those words.
I’m pregnant with your husband’s baby.
On Wednesday morning, Roger announced that he would be working late because of an important meeting with investors.
Mary nodded without looking at him.
She knew it was a lie.
He was going to his mistress, the woman who was carrying his child.
After Roger left, Mary sat in her chair for a long time, staring at her reflection in the dark TV screen.
Her face was thin, her eyes sunken, her hair roots gray.
When had she started looking so bad? When had she stopped being a woman and turned into a shadow? She got up and went to the secretary where the detective’s file was kept.
Samantha’s address, 1247 East Camelback Road.
Mary knew the area.
Quiet streets, small houses where middle-class families lived, ordinary people with ordinary problems.
But not everyone’s problems were ordinary.
Mary went up to her bedroom and stood in front of the mirror for a long time.
Then she started getting ready.
Dark jeans, a black sweater, sneakers.
She tucked her hair under a baseball cap.
In the garage, she grabbed some gardening gloves and shoved them in her pocket.
In the car, Mary checked the address again.
She didn’t have any specific plans.
She just wanted to see the house where this woman lived to understand how she lived, what she had that Mary didn’t.
Samantha’s house turned out to be a modest two-story cottage with a small garden.
A Honda Civic was parked in the driveway.
Mary parked across the street and watched.
The lights were on in the windows and she could see silhouettes.
Samantha was moving around in the kitchen.
Around 8:00 in the evening, a teenager with a backpack came out of the house, Samantha’s brother.
He got on his bike and rode off toward the mall.
Mary waited another half hour, making sure Samantha was home alone.
Approaching the door, she rang the bell.
Her heart was beating so loudly that it seemed to be heard throughout the street.
Who is it? Samantha’s voice came from behind the door.
Mary Collins, we need to finish our conversation.
A long pause, then the sound of locks being unlocked.
Samantha opened the door, leaving the chain on.
She looked tired and was wearing a bathrobe.
Mrs.
Collins, I don’t think.
Please, I need to talk to you.
It’s important.
Samantha hesitated, then removed the chain and opened the door completely.
Come in.
The house was cozy and clean.
There were photos on the mantelpiece of Samantha with a teenager at different ages.
Books, textbooks, and basketball trophies lined the shelves.
It was a typical family home.
“Would you like some coffee?” Samantha asked.
“No, thank you.
” Mary sat down on the sofa and Samantha settled into the armchair opposite her.
“I know what you think of me,” Samantha began.
“And I understand why you’re angry.
You understand? Mary smiled.
I doubt it.
I didn’t plan to fall in love with your husband.
Fall in love? Mary’s voice rose.
You’re a prostitute.
He’s your client.
I know how it looks, but over the past 2 years, something more developed between us.
More? He didn’t even know your real name.
Samantha lowered her head.
I know, but I felt something for him.
and you decided to get pregnant to tie him to you.
It was an accident.
I didn’t plan it.
Samantha stood up and began to pace the room.
You think I wanted to be in this situation? I don’t know what you wanted, but I know you got what I’ve dreamed of my whole life.
What do you mean? Mary stood up and walked over to the fireplace where the photos were standing.
A family, a brother who loves you, and now a child.
Mrs.
Collins.
I lost my son a year ago.
Mary’s voice trembled.
7 months pregnant.
We had already chosen a name and bought a crib and then it was all over.
Samantha fell silent.
I’m so sorry.
Sorry.
Mary turned to her.
You’re sorry? I tried to get pregnant for 15 years.
15 years of doctors, procedures, hopes, and disappointments.
And you got it by accident from my husband.
I understand that it’s painful.
You understand? Mary took a step closer.
You have no idea what pain is.
Waking up every morning and remembering that your child is dead.
Seeing baby things in stores and feeling your heartbreak.
Watching your husband pull away because he can’t bear your grief anymore.
Mrs.
Collins, please calm down.
Calm down? Mary laughed, but it was hysterical.
How can I calm down when you’re carrying the child that should have been mine? It’s not your child and it’s not my choice that you couldn’t have one.
The slap rang loudly in the silence of the house.
Samantha stepped back, pressing her hand to her cheek.
How dare you? Mary whispered.
How dare you talk to me about my failures.
That’s not what I meant.
What are you going to do with the baby? Mary’s voice was quieter, but there was a threat in it.
I haven’t decided yet.
Have it? Maybe.
and Roger will be the father.
Samantha hesitated.
He said he’d support us financially, but but he won’t acknowledge the child officially.
Of course not.
He can’t ruin his marriage for a prostitute.
Stop calling me that.
What else? You take money for sex.
That’s the definition of a prostitute.
Samantha sat down on the sofa, covering her face with her hands.
I’m doing this for Tommy, for his future.
Oh yes, the saintly sacrifice for her brother.
Mary sat down next to her.
And what will he say when he finds out the truth? That his sister is a and his nephew is the bastard of a married man.
Enough.
Samantha jumped up.
Enough.
Yes, I’m an escort.
Yes, I’m pregnant with your husband’s child, but I’m not a bad woman.
I’m just trying to survive by destroying other people’s families.
Your family was destroyed before I came along.
Roger told me how you grew apart after you lost your child.
Mary turned pale.
What did he say? That you don’t talk anymore? That he feels guilty but doesn’t know how to help? That sometimes he feels like you blame him for your son’s death.
He had no right.
Mary’s voice broke.
He’s suffering, Mrs.
Collins.
Maybe not as much as you, but he’s hurting, too.
And that’s why he went to a prostitute.
He was looking for comfort.
someone who wouldn’t remind him of his loss.
Mary stood up and walked over to the window.
The street lights were coming on and it was the start of a normal evening in a normal neighborhood.
Somewhere dinner was being prepared.
Children were doing their homework.
Families were gathering together.
A normal life that she had never had.
“How much do you want?” she asked without turning around.
“What for the abortion? How much money do you need to get rid of the baby?” I didn’t say I wanted an abortion, but you’re considering it.
Samantha paused.
Yes, I am.
Then name your price.
It’s not about the money, Mrs.
Collins.
It’s about what’s right.
Right? Mary turned to her.
Right to give birth to a child who won’t have a father.
A child who will destroy what’s left of my marriage.
Your marriage is already destroyed because of you.
number because of the grief you couldn’t survive together.
Mary took a step closer.
Her eyes were on fire.
You have no right to judge my marriage.
You don’t know what we’ve been through.
I know enough.
Roger came to me for 2 years because he felt like a stranger in his own home.
Shut up.
He said you’d become a shadow.
That you were living in the past, refusing to accept the present.
I said shut up.
that you accuse him with your looks, your words, your silence, that when he’s with you, he feels guilty for not being able to save your son.
Shut up.
Mary grabbed a glass vase from the mantelpiece and swung it at her.
Samantha tried to dodge it, but the vase hit her on the temple.
She fell to the floor, blood running down her face.
“My God,” Mary whispered, looking at the shards in her hands.
“My God, what have I done?” Samantha tried to get up, holding her head.
You hit me.
I didn’t mean to.
I just Mary knelt down beside her.
I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean to.
But when she saw the blood on Samantha’s hands, something snapped in her mind.
Blood.
Just like back then in the hospital when she lost Michael.
Blood on the sheets, on her legs, on the doctor’s hands.
Murderer, she whispered.
You’re a child murderer.
What? Samantha tried to focus her eyes.
What are you talking about? You kill children like you killed my kill your son.
But Mary wasn’t listening anymore.
In her griefstricken mind, Samantha had become the embodiment of all the evil that had taken her child away from her.
She grabbed a large shard of the vase.
No.
Samantha tried to crawl away, but the blow was quick and precise.
The shard entered her neck, severing her corroted artery.
Blood spurted out, flooding the light colored carpet.
Samantha tried to clamp the wound with her hands, but blood seeped through her fingers.
“Help!” she croked.
“Please!” Mary sat nearby, watching the dying woman.
A strange calm descended upon her.
Justice had finally been served.
The woman who had stolen her husband and child was paying for her sins.
Samantha twitched a few more times, trying to breathe, then went still.
Her eyes remained open, staring at the ceiling.
Mary stood up and looked at her hands.
Blood.
Lots of blood.
She went to the bathroom, washed her hands, and took off her gloves.
In the mirror, a strange woman with cold eyes stared back at her.
Returning to the living room, she stopped at Samantha’s body.
the young woman who just an hour ago had been alive, breathing, talking about the future.
Now she was just dead flesh on the carpet.
Mary bent down and placed her hand on Samantha’s stomach.
There, beneath the skin and muscles, was a baby.
Roger’s baby.
A baby who would never be born.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
It was unclear to whom the apology was intended.
Mary cleaned up any traces of her presents, checking for fingerprints.
Then she went out the back door and walked to her car.
At home, she took a shower, changed her clothes, and had a glass of wine.
When Roger returned at midnight, she was sitting in the living room reading a book.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“Fine, quiet,” she looked up at him.
“And you? How was your meeting?” “Good, very productive.
” Roger kissed her on the forehead and went upstairs.
He didn’t know that his mistress was dead, that his child was dead, that his wife had become a murderer.
Mary sat in the silence of her home, listening to the sounds of the city at night outside her window.
Somewhere out there, in a modest house, a teenager was returning home to find his sister’s body.
Somewhere, an investigation was beginning that would change the lives of everyone touched by this tragedy.
But for now, there was only silence, and Mary Collins finally felt at peace.
Tommy Reed returned home at 10 in the evening after training at the gym.
The house greeted him with an unusual silence.
Usually, Samantha would be waiting for him with dinner, or at least leave a note.
The front door was unlocked, which was also strange.
“Sam,” he called as he entered the living room.
What he saw turned his world upside down.
His sister was lying on the floor in a pool of blood, her eyes wide open, her face waxy.
Shards of a broken vase glinted in the lamplight.
Tommy fell to his knees beside the body, trying to feel for a pulse, though it was obvious that help was no longer needed.
His hands were covered in his sister’s blood as he searched in vain for signs of life.
“No, no, no,” he muttered, reaching for his phone.
“Sam, please.
” The call to 911 seemed to last forever.
With a trembling voice, Tommy gave the dispatcher the address and what he had found.
Then he sat down on the floor next to his sister and waited.
Paramedics arrived first, followed by the police.
The house was filled with people in uniform, camera flashes, and radio communications.
Tommy sat on the porch wrapped in a blanket, watching strangers examine the place where the only family he had ever known had died.
Detective Jack Evans arrived 40 minutes after the first call.
A 38-year-old man with tired eyes and graying temples.
He had been working in the homicide division for 15 years.
He had seen many deaths in that time, but each one still affected him.
“Tommy Reed?” he asked, approaching the teenager.
The boy nodded without looking up.
“I’m very sorry for your loss.
I know this is hard, but I need to ask you a few questions.
” She’s dead, Tommy whispered.
My sister is dead.
I know, and we’re going to find whoever did this.
Evans crouched down next to him.
Can you tell me when you left the house? Around 7:00 to practice at the gym.
Was Samantha home? Yes.
She seemed upset the last few days.
I asked her what was wrong, but she said it was work.
What kind of work did she do? Tommy looked up at the detective.
marketing consultant, but I never really understood what she did.
” Evans nodded.
He already knew Samantha’s real profession.
His colleagues at the station had quickly figured out that she was an escort.
“But now was not the time to traumatize a teenager.
” “When did you get home?” At 10, the door was open.
I called her and then Tommy’s voice broke.
Did you notice anything unusual? Any strange cars or unfamiliar people? number.
Everything was normal.
Inside the house, forensic investigators were working at the crime scene.
Evans entered and carefully examined the living room.
Samantha was lying face up, a wound on her neck, indicating a quick death.
Shards of a vase were scattered across the floor, the largest of them lying next to the body in a pool of blood.
“What do you think?” asked forensic scientist Dan Morris.
“Looks like a domestic crime.
A familiar person.
The victim let the killer involuntarily.
No signs of forced entry.
Evans leaned over the body.
The blow was precise.
The corroted artery was severed.
Either luck or the killer knew where to aim.
No fingerprints yet.
The killer was careful.
Or wearing gloves.
Evans straightened up.
What about the time of death? Preliminary estimate is between 8 and 9:00 pm We’ll know more after the autopsy.
Evans nodded and went out to Tommy.
The boy was still sitting on the porch now with a social worker.
Tommy, do you have any relatives you can go to? No, we had no one but each other.
Tommy looked at the house.
What’s going to happen to me now? You’ll stay with a foster family for now, just until we figure things out.
The next morning, Evans began a more detailed investigation.
He examined Samantha’s financial records, her phone calls, and her emails.
A picture of the escort’s life began to emerge.
A call from a colleague interrupted his work.
Evans, we have some interesting information on your case.
The victim was pregnant.
7 weeks.
Pregnant? Evans leaned back in his chair.
That changes everything.
It sure does.
The autopsy confirmed that not only was she killed, but the baby was, too.
Now they had two murders instead of one.
Evans began studying Samantha’s clients.
The list was short.
She worked with a select circle of wealthy men.
The name Roger Collins came up first.
Regular meetings at the Rison Hotel, always on Tuesdays.
The last meeting was 3 days ago.
Evans drove to Collins car dealership.
Roger greeted him in his office, a spacious room with panoramic windows and expensive furniture.
Mr. Collins, I’m Detective Evans, Phoenix Police Department.
I’m investigating the murder of Samantha Reed.
Roger pald but tried to remain calm.
Murder.
What happened? Did you know Miss Reed? Yes, I did.
She was our marketing consultant.
Mr. Collins, we know about your relationship.
Two years of regular meetings at the hotel.
There’s no point in lying.
Roger sat down in a chair covering his face with his hands.
My god, is she really dead? She was killed last night.
Did you have a romantic relationship? Yes, I did.
But it’s not what you think.
Explain.
Samantha was special, smart, kind.
We talked a lot.
She understood me.
Did you know she was pregnant? Roger pald again.
She told me 3 days ago.
And your reaction? I was shocked.
I didn’t know what to do.
Did you suggest she have an abortion? Yes.
I offered financial assistance.
And when she refused? She didn’t refuse.
She said she would think about it.
Evan studied Roger’s face.
The man looked genuinely shaken by the news of her death.
Where were you last night between 8 and 9? At home with my wife.
Did your wife know about the relationship? Number God, no.
I’ll need to talk to her.
Detective, please.
My wife is going through a difficult time.
We lost a child a year ago.
Nevertheless, I need to talk to her.
The Collins home in Scottsdale was impressive.
Mary met the detective in the living room, looking calm and collected.
Too calm for the wife of a man who had just been questioned about a murder.
“Mrs.
Collins, I’m Detective Evans.
I’m investigating the murder of Samantha Reed.
” “I’ve never heard that name,” Mary said in an even voice.
“Your husband knew her.
They worked together.
” Roger works with a lot of people.
Where were you last night between 8 and 9? At home reading.
Can anyone confirm that? Roger came home around midnight.
I was alone before that.
Evans studied Mary.
Something about her behavior was alarming.
Too controlled.
Too ready for questions.
Mrs.
Collins, how is your relationship with your husband? Normal.
Why do you ask? Just trying to piece things together.
The next day, Evans received a report from the forensic team.
Several hairs had been found in Samantha’s house that did not belong to her or her brother.
a DNA test could provide an answer, but a sample was needed for comparison.
Meanwhile, he continued to investigate Samantha’s life.
Neighbors described her as a quiet, polite woman who cared for her brother.
No one knew about her job.
The breakthrough came when Evans found private investigator Michael Torres.
Mary Collins hired me 2 weeks ago.
Torres said, “She asked me to keep an eye on her husband.
And what did you find out? that he regularly meets with an escort named Samantha Reed.
I gave Mrs.
Collins a full report with photos and addresses.
When 5 days ago, Evans felt the pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place.
Mary knew about her husband’s affair, knew Samantha’s address, and she didn’t mention any of that during the interrogation.
He obtained a search warrant for the Collins home.
In Mary’s desk, they found a detective’s folder with photos of Samantha.
In the trash can behind the house, they found gardening gloves with stains that could have been blood.
“Mary Collins, you’re under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Samantha Reed,” Evans said when they came for her.
Mary didn’t resist.
When her rights were read to her, she simply nodded.
In the interrogation room, she sat quietly with her hands folded on the table.
“Mrs.
Collins, we know you hired a detective.
We know you found out about your husband’s affair.
” Mary remained silent.
We have your hair from the crime scene.
DNA will confirm it.
Still silence.
We found gloves with the victim’s blood on them.
Mary finally looked up.
She stole my life.
Explain.
She slept with my husband for 2 years.
While I was mourning our dead son, she was comforting my husband.
And you decided to kill her.
I just wanted to talk to ask her to leave us alone.
Mary’s voice grew quieter, but she said she was pregnant with Roger’s child and what happened then.
She said things about our marriage, about what Roger had told her about me.
Mary closed her eyes.
I couldn’t take it.
You killed her with a piece of the vase.
Yes.
And the baby? Mary shuddered.
I didn’t think about the baby at the time.
All I could think about was the pain.
You realize you killed two people? I do now.
Mary looked at the detective.
I’m not a monster, Detective Evans.
I’m just a broken woman who has lost everything.
Mary Collins’s trial lasted 3 weeks.
Her lawyer tried to get her acquitted on grounds of insanity, citing depression and grief over the loss of her child, but the prosecutor proved that the murder was premeditated.
Mary had gone to Samantha’s house knowing the truth about her pregnancy.
The jury returned a verdict of guilty of seconddegree murder, 20 years in prison.
Roger Collins filed for divorce the day after the verdict.
The business had to be sold.
The scandal destroyed his reputation.
Tommy Reed stayed with his foster family.
The house on Camelback Road was sold and the money was put into a fund for his education.
He sometimes visited his sister’s grave, leaving flowers and telling her about school and his plans for the future.
Detective Evans closed the case, but it haunted him for a long time.
Three lives destroyed, two deaths, all because of secrets, lies, and unspoken grief.
Mary Collins sat in her cell in the women’s prison in Pville, and looked out the window at the Arizona desert.
Sometimes she thought about Samantha, the child she had killed.
Sometimes she thought about Roger and what had become of their marriage.
But most often she thought about Michael, the son she had lost, and how that loss had changed her forever.
Justice had been served, but no one had won.
The merciless sun continued to shine in Phoenix.
The city went on with its life, and the story of love, betrayal, and revenge became just another case file in the police department’s archives.
