His face drained white, as if blood and lies had finally decided they couldn’t coexist.
“Adelaide?” he stammered. “What the—”
Verona’s expression hardened into something almost calm.
“Surprise, Alton,” she said. “Your wife and your girlfriend finally agree on something.”
He tried to laugh, the sound brittle. “You were both ready to hand me your money. Who’s the fool?”
Verona tilted her head. “Not me. Not anymore.”
Alton’s eyes snapped to me, desperate for leverage. “Fine,” he spat. “But Adelaide already wired me everything. You should learn from her loyalty.”
I leaned forward, close enough for him to smell certainty.
“No,” I said quietly. “I didn’t send a cent. One call from Verona saved me. Next time, don’t leave your phone behind when you’re playing two women.”
His mouth opened, but nothing came out that could rescue him.
I reached into my purse, pulled out a single dollar, and placed it on the table with careful respect—like a tip you leave for service you never want again.
“Enjoy dinner,” I said. “I’ll pay what you’re worth.”
Verona stood, grabbed her coat, and looked at him like he was suddenly small.
“We’re getting pizza,” she said. “Honest food.”
And we walked out together.
Not crying. Not screaming. Not broken.
Just done.
Outside, the air felt cleaner than it had in months. Verona nudged me with her shoulder, a strange, disbelieving laugh in her throat.
“Ever think we’d end up here?” she asked.
“Not once,” I replied. “But if you ever need a partner in getting your life back…”
Verona smiled. “Deal. Extra cheese?”
“Extra cheese,” I said. “And something strong.”
We disappeared down the street—two women who had given too much, and finally stopped.
If you were Adelaide, what would you do next: expose him publicly, file quietly, or make him repay every cent legally?
