A Visit to Monica's Home

"Okay! It doesn't matter what we eat, I just want some peace and quiet, so let's go to your place! I've never been there, and you've kept it well hidden. If something were to happen, nobody would be able to find your house! Why all the secrecy?" I spoke casually, as if we were just joking around like we used to.

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, and I tightened my grip on the phone, sensing her indecision.

"Don't tell me it's inconvenient!" I prodded her deliberately, knowing her personality well.

"What are you talking about? What do you mean by inconvenient? Even if I had a man hidden in my house, I'd send him away to make it convenient for you!" she replied breezily. "Alright, it's settled then. I'll come a bit later to pick you up. You and your little sweetheart just wait at home for me!"

After hanging up, I held my daughter, weighed down by thoughts of what could have been—a mere nightmare, if only it hadn't actually happened. At the very least, my daughter wouldn't have been hurt.

Seeing her lips still swollen, I gently asked, "Does it still hurt?"

She shook her head, comforting me like a little adult, "It doesn't hurt anymore. Daddy said it wasn't on purpose, he made a mistake!"

I choked up, wishing I could be as naive as my daughter.

Two hours later, Monica's car arrived downstairs, signaling me to come down. I hid those two keys in a compartment of my bag; I just wanted to confirm whether those keys were indeed to her house.

To my surprise, Monica lived in one of the most upscale residential complexes in G city. I was familiar with this area, known for having the best schools that offered education from kindergarten through to high school graduation, reputed to be among the best in the state.

George and I had often talked about buying a place here so Angel could attend these schools.

"I never imagined, Monica, that you lived in such a luxurious place! I've had my eye on this area for a long time!" I said sincerely, momentarily forgetting my grievances with her.

"You're interested in the educational resources here, aren't you?" Monica quickly responded. "That's an easy fix. When it's time for Angel to go to school, if you trust me, she can stay with me! We can enroll her in the schools here!"

I froze in place, my mind suddenly tumultuous. Was she preparing to fight me for my daughter?

Monica reached out and took Angel, then suddenly noticed her injured lips. "Hey, what happened here? I don't remember her bumping her mouth last time?"

Her exaggerated surprise seemed designed to jab at my nerves.

I took my daughter back, saying coolly, "It was an accident."

Monica sensed my detachment and stiffened.

Her apartment was on the 12th floor. When she opened the door, I intentionally glanced at her keys, but she was quick, tossing them into her bag immediately after unlocking the door.

I didn't get a clear look.

Once inside, she threw her bag on a cabinet by the door and then took Angel from me, "Sweetheart, come on, let me show you around."

The apartment was luxuriously furnished, almost too lavish for one person. The place was beautifully decorated, with fresh flowers on the coffee table, fitting the lifestyle of a well-to-do single woman. Compared to my modest 45 square meter home, it was like a palace.

It seemed life really could flip completely in ten years; Monica was living in luxury while I was stuck dealing with a cheating husband amidst mundane daily routines.

Angel squealed excitedly, "Wow! Mommy, auntie's home is so beautiful, I love it here!"

Hearing my daughter's joyful shouts twisted a knife in my heart.

I followed them inside, carefully observing everything in the apartment, looking for any sign or clue.

After a complete tour, I felt somewhat disappointed; there wasn't even a pair of men's slippers anywhere.

I suspected she had cleaned up in advance, especially since she was two hours late picking us up. Two hours seemed enough time to hide everything.

She really was thorough.

Perhaps noticing my distraction, Monica brought out snacks for Angel and turned on a large-screen TV with cartoons, then came to sit beside me, scrutinizing me intently. I felt uncomfortable under her gaze.

She placed her hand on mine, patting the back of my hand, "Speak up."

Startled, I looked at her and withdrew my hand, defensively asking, "Speak up about what?"

"About what's on your mind," Monica said softly, as if coaxing me.

I scoffed internally, facing her with a cold tone, "What's on my mind? What are you implying?"