Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Your Heart, Their Calculator

For the next two days, I took time off work and kept my phone off.

My apartment felt empty. Harvey had moved most of his things out last month, claiming it would make the post-wedding move easier. His slippers, his mug, his razor―all gone.

It’s amazing how three years of life can be packed away in an hour.

I opened my laptop and logged into my bank portal. I started scrolling through my history. I expected to find a few unpaid loans.

What I found made me go cold.

Over three years, the transfers to Harvey and his family filled three full pages.

The biggest one was $5,000 for his brother’s car. At the time, he told me, “We’re getting married anyway. What’s mine is yours.” I never asked for a receipt.

Then there were the medical bills for his mother―$2,000 I paid upfront. He said the insurance would reimburse me, but I never saw a dime.

Three hundred here for his father’s birthday. Five hundred there for his sister’s college books. A thousand for a “business investment” that went nowhere.

Then there were the smaller things. Every dinner out. Every grocery run. He’d always say, “You make more than me, you get this one, I’ll Venmo you later.”

“Later” never came. He even used my credit card for “emergencies” to the tune of $4,000.

Totaled up, it was nearly $25,000.

I hadn't cared before. When you’re in love, you don't count the pennies. You think the heart is what matters.

But was his heart ever in it?

I closed the bank tab and started looking through our old emails. I found a file attached to a thread about our marriage license.

It was a PDF. I had never looked closely at it.

“I, Gwen Vance, voluntarily agree to transfer the title of my property to Harvey Wyatt as a joint marital asset upon marriage.”

My name was at the bottom. The signature looked like mine. But the lines were slightly shaky, as if it had been traced or signed in a hurry.

I sat on the bed and thought back.

Two months ago, Harvey brought over a pile of “wedding paperwork.” He said it was for the mortgage and the venue. He had flipped to the signature pages, holding the paper down so only the lines showed.

I was busy with a work deadline. I was exhausted. I just signed where he pointed.

I felt a chill run down my spine. It wasn't just greed. This was a setup.

I picked up my phone to call him, but my finger hovered over the button.

What would I say? “Why did you lie to me?” He’d just deny it. He’d make up some excuse and turn it back on me, calling me “distrustful.”

I didn't call.

Instead, I opened a new document and started a list.

Bank transfers: 12 major items. Text logs: Keywords― “loan,” “pay me back,” “mom needs.” The property agreement: A forged or coerced document. The wedding recording: My cousin had caught the whole “buy my brother a house” speech on video.

I organized them like a hand of poker.

I wasn't going to argue anymore. I was just going to play my cards.