I stared at the USB drive without touching it.
Margaret pushed it closer.
“Watch it before you decide what kind of man my son is.”
I looked at her.
“I already know what kind of man Daniel is.”
“He cheated on me.”
“Yes.”
“He humiliated me.”
“Yes.”
“He gave other women access to my property just to provoke me.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“I know.”
“Then whatever is on that drive doesn’t erase anything.”
“I’m not asking you to forgive him.”
That made me pause.
She looked exhausted.
“I’m asking you to know what you’re divorcing.”
I inserted the USB into her laptop.
There were twenty-three folders.
Dates.
Names.
Photographs.
Bank transfers.
And videos.
The earliest folder was six years old.
I opened it.
A woman appeared on the screen.
Rachel Myers.
Daniel’s first affair.
The one I had discovered in his SUV.
She was sitting in what looked like a lawyer’s office.
“My relationship with Daniel Foster was real,” she said.
My stomach tightened.
“I knew he was married. He knew I knew.”
No excuses.
No secret noble reason.
Just betrayal.
The second recording was similar.
My former best friend.
Real.
My cousin.
Real.
Each confirmation reopened wounds I thought had already turned into scars.
Margaret didn’t interrupt.
Then I reached a folder dated three years earlier.
NIGHT FALCON — V888.
The woman in the video was the same person who had sent me photographs on our anniversary.
Except now she was sitting in an empty studio wearing ordinary clothes.
“My name is Natalie Warren. General Foster paid me to appear with him at Night Falcon on four occasions.”
I stopped the video.
“What?”
Margaret said nothing.
I played it again.
Natalie continued.
“There was never a sexual relationship. I was instructed to take suggestive photographs and make sure Mrs. Foster received at least one.”
My hands went cold.
Next folder.
Sophie Bell.
The dancer Daniel had supposedly moved into my Riverside house.
She appeared in another recorded statement.
“General Foster never lived with me. He gave me the keys for forty-eight hours and asked me to make sure someone from Dr. Hart’s office saw me entering.”
I turned toward Margaret.
“He staged it?”
She nodded.
“Not everything.”
Her voice was painful.
“But after his diagnosis…”
I looked back at the screen.
Another file.
Another woman.
Another scandal.
Each one had been constructed with almost military precision.
Dates when Daniel knew I would hear about it.
Receipts deliberately left behind.
Messages sent from phones he knew I checked.
Photographs positioned so his face was visible.
He hadn’t even been trying to hide.
He had been manufacturing evidence.
My anger came back instantly.
“Why?”
Margaret opened the medical report.
“Three years ago, Daniel collapsed during a training exercise.”
She pointed to a neurological scan.
“The injury from his old mission had progressed.”
“How bad?”
“He was originally told he might lose motor control gradually.”
My throat tightened despite myself.
“And instead of telling his wife, he hired women to pretend they were sleeping with him?”
Margaret gave a miserable smile.
“You know Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“That’s exactly why this is believable.”
I hated that she was right.
Daniel could lead men under fire.
He could negotiate with generals twice his age.
But emotion?
Vulnerability?
Fear?
He treated those like enemy territory.
Margaret continued.
“He thought if you knew he was ill, you would stay.”
“So?”
“He didn’t want you to.”
I laughed bitterly.
“How considerate.”
“Elena…”
“No.”
I stood.
“He doesn’t get to decide that hurting me is kinder than letting me choose.”
Margaret lowered her eyes.
“I told him the same thing.”
I sat again.
There was one final folder.
No woman’s name.
Just:
FOR ELENA — ONLY IF SHE REALLY LEAVES.
My hand hovered over the mouse.
Then I clicked.
Daniel appeared onscreen.
No uniform.
No medals.
No cold expression.
He looked tired.
Older.
The recording had been made eight months earlier.
“Elena.”
He stared into the camera for several seconds.
“If you’re watching this, Mom ignored me.”
Despite myself, I almost smiled.
Typical Daniel.
Then his face became serious.
“The first time I betrayed you, there was no excuse.”
My chest tightened.
“The second time either.”
He swallowed.
“I was angry, selfish, and arrogant enough to believe being your husband meant you would always remain available for me to come back to.”
I stopped breathing.
“I’m not asking you to forgive those years.”
His eyes lowered.
“I wouldn’t forgive me either.”
Then he looked back at the camera.
“But after the diagnosis, I made another cowardly decision.”
He explained the fake affairs.
The staged photographs.
The deliberate provocations.
The transfers designed to make me financially independent.
Even the money he sent before Night Falcon had been calculated to build a separate account in my name.
“I thought hatred would be easier for you than grief.”
I whispered:
“Idiot.”
Daniel continued.
“And Mia.”
My entire body went rigid.
His expression changed when he said our daughter’s name.
“If my condition progresses the way they expect, I don’t want her childhood built around watching her father disappear piece by piece.”
Margaret began crying beside me.
I didn’t.
Daniel looked directly into the camera.
“So I need you to leave before you start confusing pity with love again.”
I closed the laptop.
“That’s enough.”
Margaret didn’t stop me.
I took the divorce papers.
The medical report.
And the USB.
Then I stood.
“I’m still divorcing him.”
“I know.”
“And this doesn’t make what he did romantic.”
“I know.”
“He manipulated me for years.”
“Yes.”
I reached the door.
Margaret suddenly said:
“There’s one thing Daniel doesn’t know.”
I turned.
She removed another medical envelope from beneath the table.
Different hospital.
Different neurologist.
Dated six days earlier.
“I sent his scans overseas without telling him.”
My pulse changed.
“What did they find?”
Margaret’s voice trembled.
“The original prognosis may have been wrong.”
I stared at her.
“What do you mean?”
“The injury is real.”
She swallowed.
“But the progression Daniel has spent three years expecting…”
She slid the report toward me.
“…may not be natural.”
I opened the first page.
Toxicology.
Medication history.
Abnormal compounds.
Repeated exposure.
I looked up slowly.
Margaret whispered:
“Someone may have been making his condition worse.”
My blood ran cold.
Then my phone rang.
Military hospital.
I answered.
A man spoke urgently.
“Dr. Hart?”
“Yes.”
“This is General Foster’s attending physician.”
My grip tightened.
“What happened?”
There was a pause.
“Your husband collapsed twenty minutes ago.”
I closed my eyes.
But the doctor wasn’t finished.
“And before he lost consciousness, he gave us one instruction.”
“What?”
The answer turned the room completely silent.
“He said not to let his mother anywhere near him.”
