My Husband Hurt Me for His Lover, But My 4-Year-Old Daughter Saved My Life

“This company was formed about three years ago, coinciding with the time Mr. Garrett started talking about starting a business. And the legal representative of this company is not him.” He passed over another paper.

It was a compact corporate filing. My eyes dropped to the administrator entry, and an unknown name surfaced.

“Eliza Sterling. Who is Eliza Sterling?” Grandpa asked, his voice low and commanding.

“She’s the woman Damon Garrett met with at the cafe the other day.” Mr. Davis answered.

He produced a crisper photo: a poised, attractive woman in her 20s, smiling warmly beside Damon. The picture snapped all the pieces into place.

There was never a business venture. Golden Future served as a facade to funnel my money.

With my funds, he had established a company tied to his mistress, crafting a golden future for the two of them erected on my sacrifice and tears. A cold blaze rose in me.

He had betrayed me not only in love but financially robbed me. “And where is this company based?” I asked, steady.

“The registered office is in a prime office building on Fifth Avenue, but our people went there and they only have a virtual office rented with almost no activity. However, we have located the apartment where this Eliza Sterling lives. It’s a luxurious duplex in an upscale apartment complex in the Upper East Side district,” Mr. Davis said.

Grandpa, silent until then, finally spoke. A keen light flashed in his gaze.

“Davis, investigate that woman, Eliza Sterling, further. Her past, her relationships, everything. I want to know it all. And keep monitoring this Damon’s movements. I fear this is not just a case of adultery and fraud.” Grandpa commanded.

“Yes, President.” Mr. Davis replied.

Grandpa’s warning chilled me. He was right.

How could someone as young as Eliza have orchestrated such a sophisticated scheme with Damon? There had to be another player in the shadows.

And was Damon, violent and avaricious, truly capable of designing all of this alone? The puzzle pieces were aligning towards something far bigger and more dangerous than I’d imagined.

I sensed the conflict would be far more intricate and perilous than I’d thought. The days that followed stretched unbearably; impatience burned in me with each sunrise.

I worried for myself but above all for Ila. She was too little to grasp the tempest tearing our family apart.

She only wanted to know why she couldn’t see her father, why her mother looked constantly sorrowful. I had to embrace her and lie.

“Daddy had gone on a very long business trip.” I told her.

Every time I said it, guilt cut me through. While I wrestled with my emotions, Mr. Davis’s team and the private investigators Grandpa hired worked relentlessly.

Like tireless bees, they gathered drops of truth from a hive of deceit. One afternoon, Mr. Davis phoned, his tone graver than usual.

“Ms. Hempill, could you come to my office right now? We have some new discoveries, and I think it would be better if you saw them yourself.” He said.

A wave of dread washed over me. I left Ila with a staff member and hurried to his downtown office.

It sat on the skyscraper’s top floor with a sweeping view of Manhattan, though the city looked drained of color to me. Mr. Davis waited in the conference room; on the table lay multiple folders and a laptop.

“Please have a seat,” He said gently.

“What you are about to see might be quite shocking. You need to prepare yourself.” He added.

I clasped my hands tightly. “Tell me. I can handle whatever it is.” I said.

Mr. Davis exhaled and angled the screen toward me. “We have investigated Eliza Sterling further. She’s not a simple woman. Apparently, she is the director of a startup, but in reality, she has a quite complex past. And most importantly, she and Damon Garrett did not meet recently.” He said.

He hit play. A sequence of photographs appeared.

The first showed Damon and Eliza walking hand in hand along a Miami beach. The timestamp was roughly three years earlier, just months after I’d sold my adoptive parents’ house to fund Damon’s supposed heart operation.

So the illness had been a ruse to extract my last substantial funds. That money financed a getaway with his mistress and the launch of their new life.

A crushing weight settled on my chest, and yet worse was still to come. Mr. Davis clicked onward.

Images from the previous two years: moments that should have belonged to me and my child. Damon feeding a plump baby boy; Damon guiding the toddler’s first steps in an opulent apartment.

Damon, Eliza, and the child beaming over birthday candles. Their picture-book family hurt to look at.

“Who is that child?” My voice shook uncontrollably.

“He is the son of Damon Garrett and Eliza Sterling,” Mr. Davis’s tone matched the gravity.

“His name is Micah. He is over 2 years old. Damon Garrett has been deceiving you and living a double life.” He said.

Micah. I repeated it to myself. Even his secret son’s name echoed our daughter Ila’s.

His cruelty had no floor. So that was the truth: the real face of the man I had lifted up at the cost of everything.

Not merely unfaithful; he had another family. He was the father of another child.

The money I had scraped together and handed over wasn’t for a venture; it supported his second woman. I had been the diligent cash cow paying for someone else’s happiness.

This revelation cut deeper than any bruise. It mocked me in my love.

I sat utterly still. Tears slid without stopping, but they were no longer weakness; they mourned my wasted youth, my complete deception.

“Miss Hemphill,” Mr. Davis said, offering a tissue.

“I know it’s hard to accept, but we have to face this. This evidence is a death blow. With the fact that he had a child and deliberately concealed it, we can prove beyond a doubt that he has gravely violated his marital and family duties. The court, in the division of assets and in the custody of Leila, will side with you.” He said.

I dried my face and raised my eyes, now hardened like steel. “He won’t just lose custody, attorney,” I answered unwavering.

“I want him to also pay for the crimes of fraud and embezzlement. I want him and that woman to be socially destroyed.” I said.