I grew up in a middle-class neighborhood in suburban Chicago, the kind of place where lawns were trimmed on Saturdays and everyone waved even if they didn\u2019t really know your name. My life back then was simple, predictable, and honestly, I thought that was enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My dad, Tom, spent thirty years on the police force before retiring with a bad knee and a habit of waking up at five in the morning no matter what day it was. My mom, Sarah, still works as a secretary at Lincoln Elementary, the same school where she once walked me to kindergarten holding my hand like she was afraid I might disappear if she let go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They gave me everything they could. Love. Stability. A sense of right and wrong. What they couldn\u2019t give me was money, but I never felt deprived. We weren\u2019t wealthy, but we were safe. And for a long time, I thought that was the most important thing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My name is Tasha Mitchell. Well\u2026 it was. Before I became Tasha Reynolds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After graduating college with an accounting degree, I landed a job at Anderson & Partners, a midsized accounting firm downtown. The pay was decent, the work steady, and I assumed this was how my life would go. Wake up. Go to work. Come home. Repeat. I didn\u2019t hate it, but I didn\u2019t feel particularly alive either.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then came that rainy Tuesday in October.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was rushing out of Starbucks, already late for work, juggling my coffee and my phone when I slammed straight into someone coming the opposite direction. Hot coffee splashed everywhere, all over his suit, down his sleeve, onto the sidewalk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOh my God, I\u2019m so sorry,\u201d I blurted out, mortified. I grabbed napkins, desperately dabbing at what was obviously a very expensive suit. \u201cI\u2019ll pay for the dry cleaning, I swear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Instead of getting angry, he laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDon\u2019t worry about it,\u201d he said easily. \u201cYou could make it up to me by having dinner with me tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was Marcus Reynolds.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Dinner turned into another dinner. And another. Marcus was charming in a way that felt effortless, not rehearsed. He didn\u2019t talk down to me. He didn\u2019t make me feel small. When he told me he was the son of James and Victoria Reynolds \u2014 owners of Reynolds Industries, one of the biggest manufacturing companies in the Midwest \u2014 I was intimidated, sure, but he brushed it off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI like that you come from a real family,\u201d he said once. \u201cNot the corporate nonsense I grew up with.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I believed him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That belief started to crack the first time he took me to meet his parents at their mansion in Lake Forest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I still remember Victoria Reynolds looking me up and down like I was something unpleasant she\u2019d found stuck to her shoe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo,\u201d she said, swirling her wine glass, \u201cTasha. Marcus tells us you\u2019re an accountant.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I replied, forcing a smile, trying to keep my voice steady.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHow\u2026 practical,\u201d she said thinly. \u201cAnd your parents?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I told her my dad was a retired cop and my mom worked as a school secretary, her expression shifted. It was subtle, but unmistakable. Disdain, barely concealed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
James Reynolds barely acknowledged me during dinner. He spoke exclusively to Marcus about business, market forecasts, and board politics, as if I were invisible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When Marcus proposed three months later, I said yes without hesitation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I thought love would be enough. I thought I could win them over with time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I was wrong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I remember our wedding day like it happened to someone else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was elegant. Tasteful. Carefully curated in a way that felt more like a corporate event than a celebration of love. Victoria had taken control of everything from the flowers to the seating chart, and by the time I realized how little of the day actually belonged to Marcus and me, it felt too late to push back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His parents attended with frozen smiles and stiff congratulations. My parents, bless them, tried their best not to feel out of place. My dad wore the only suit he owned, freshly pressed, and my mom cried through the entire ceremony, clutching tissues and whispering how beautiful everything was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I clung to Marcus\u2019s hand, telling myself that once the wedding was over, things would get better. That this was just growing pains. That love would smooth the edges.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After our honeymoon in Bali, Marcus and I moved into his luxury apartment in downtown Chicago. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A sweeping view of Lake Michigan. A kitchen bigger than my parents\u2019 entire living room. I felt like I was living in someone else\u2019s life, walking barefoot across marble floors I was afraid to scuff.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Two months after the wedding, I found out I was pregnant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Marcus was ecstatic. He lifted me off the ground and spun me around the living room like we were in a movie. For a brief, shining moment, it felt like we were finally a team.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Even Victoria and James seemed to soften when they heard the news.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWell,\u201d Victoria said with a thin smile, \u201cat least the child will have good breeding on one side.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I pretended not to hear it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Our son was born on a snowy December morning. Marcus insisted on naming him James Jr., after his father. I didn\u2019t love the idea, but I let it go. The moment I held my son \u2014 JJ, as we quickly started calling him \u2014 nothing else mattered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not the whispers at Reynolds Industries parties.
Not Victoria\u2019s constant criticism.
Not the way people introduced me as \u201cMarcus\u2019s wife\u201d instead of by my name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Those first two years were actually good.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Marcus took to fatherhood like a natural. He came home early to play with JJ, read bedtime stories, took us both to the park on weekends. He was thriving as financial director at Reynolds Industries, and I worked part-time from home, balancing spreadsheets during nap times.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria and James adored their grandson. They showered him with expensive toys and demanded weekly visits, but I told myself it was their way of showing love.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Somewhere around JJ\u2019s third birthday, things started to change.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Marcus began coming home later. Always with the same excuse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBig project at work, honey. You wouldn\u2019t understand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man who used to rush home to see his son now barely made it for bedtime. Sometimes he didn\u2019t come home at all until after midnight, smelling faintly of cologne that wasn\u2019t his.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I told myself not to be paranoid. That stress did this to people. That powerful jobs came with sacrifices.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then came the Thursday that shattered whatever illusions I had left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria showed up unannounced at our apartment, her Herm\u00e8s scarf perfectly arranged despite the wind outside. She didn\u2019t wait to be invited in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWould you care to explain,\u201d she said coldly, \u201cwhy you weren\u2019t at the company\u2019s annual gala last night?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stared at her, confused. \u201cWhat gala?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her eyes narrowed. \u201cDon\u2019t play dumb, Tasha. The Reynolds Industries anniversary gala. Every executive and their wife was there. Except you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My stomach dropped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t know about any gala.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Victoria\u2019s lips tightened. \u201cMarcus said you weren\u2019t feeling well.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She stared at me hard. \u201cAre you telling me my son lied?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I waited up that night in the dark living room, the city lights blinking outside the windows like they were mocking me. Marcus came home around eleven-thirty, loosening his tie as he walked in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you tell me about the gala?\u201d I asked quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He sighed, poured himself a drink, and said the words that finally broke something inside me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLet\u2019s be honest, Tasha. You wouldn\u2019t have fit in. You\u2019re too simple for those events.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I felt like he\u2019d slapped me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m your wife,\u201d I said. \u201cYou\u2019re supposed to be proud of me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI was,\u201d he replied. \u201cWhen we were dating. Your simplicity was charming. But now\u2026 I need a wife who can be more.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was the night I cried myself to sleep knowing, deep down, that something between us was irreparably broken.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I just didn\u2019t know how badly yet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was the following Tuesday when my world finally collapsed in on itself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Marcus texted that he\u2019d be working late again. I didn\u2019t respond. At that point, his messages felt more like notifications than conversations. JJ was asleep, the apartment was quiet, and I decided to clean. It was easier than thinking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I reached Marcus\u2019s home office, I noticed his laptop was open on the desk, the screen still glowing. I had never snooped before. Not once. I\u2019d trusted him even when that trust had started to feel uncomfortable. But that night, something in my chest tightened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Maybe it was exhaustion.
Maybe it was instinct.
Maybe it was the quiet voice that had been trying to warn me for months.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sat down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His email was open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The name at the top of the thread made my hands start to shake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sophia Lauron.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n There were hundreds of emails. Hundreds. Stretching back months. My heart pounded as I scrolled, every line cutting deeper than the last.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHad dinner with the village idiot again.\u201d Sophia\u2019s replies were worse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPoor baby.\u201d They talked about me like I was a joke. A burden. A mistake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There were photos. Jewelry. Weekend trips he told me were \u201cbusiness conferences.\u201d Hotel rooms I\u2019d never seen. Laughing selfies. Intimacy he hadn\u2019t shared with me in months.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t cry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stayed up all night copying everything. Screenshots. Emails. Bank records. I saved it all onto a USB drive, printed the most damning messages, laid them out neatly on the kitchen table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When Marcus finally came home at seven in the morning, his shirt wrinkled, his tie loose, he stopped short when he saw me sitting there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCare to explain?\u201d I asked, holding up a printed email.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Actually laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh come on, Tasha,\u201d he said. \u201cDid you really think you were enough?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The words didn\u2019t hurt the way I expected. They felt\u2026 clarifying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSophia is everything you\u2019re not,\u201d he continued casually, pouring himself coffee. \u201cSophisticated. Exciting. Sexy. When\u2019s the last time you even tried to look good for me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stared at him. \u201cI\u2019ve been taking care of our son while you\u2019ve been cheating.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He shrugged. \u201cHere\u2019s how this is going to work. You stay my wife on paper. It\u2019s better for my image. Sophia understands.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He smiled, cruel and confident. \u201cMaybe I\u2019ll even find time for you occasionally. If you\u2019re lucky.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That was it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I walked into JJ\u2019s room, my hands shaking as I packed a small bag. He was still asleep, clutching his favorite teddy bear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBaby,\u201d I whispered gently, waking him. \u201cWe\u2019re going to Grandma and Grandpa\u2019s for a little while, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcus leaned against the doorframe watching us. \u201cYou\u2019ll be back. Where else could you go?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I picked up my son, grabbed my bag and the USB drive, and walked past him without a word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My mom opened the door in her bathrobe. One look at my face and she pulled me into her arms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Three days later, the divorce papers arrived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Victoria Reynolds delivered them herself, wearing a satisfied smirk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI always knew you weren\u2019t good enough for my son,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019m glad he finally realized it too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n What came next was worse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcus sued for full custody.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He painted me as unstable. Erratic. An unfit mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But he forgot one thing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I kept receipts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The first custody hearing felt surreal, like I was watching someone else\u2019s nightmare unfold from behind glass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcus sat across the room in an expensive suit, calm, confident, surrounded by lawyers who cost more per hour than my monthly rent used to be. When his attorney spoke, she painted a picture of me that I barely recognized.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYour honor,\u201d she said smoothly, \u201cMrs. Reynolds has exhibited increasingly erratic behavior over the past year. Excessive emotional outbursts. Jealous delusions. An inability to provide a stable environment for a young child.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt my stomach twist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They talked about me like I wasn\u2019t even there. Like I was a problem to be solved, not a mother fighting for her son.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When it was my lawyer\u2019s turn, she stood and calmly asked the judge to review the evidence we\u2019d submitted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The emails. The judge\u2019s expression changed as she read.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo,\u201d she said slowly, looking over her glasses at Marcus, \u201cyou claim your wife was unstable, yet these emails show you were carrying on an affair for months while deliberately deceiving her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcus shifted in his seat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd these messages,\u201d the judge continued, \u201cshow you repeatedly insulting her, gaslighting her, and openly planning to maintain your marriage for appearances while pursuing another relationship.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The courtroom went quiet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Primary custody was awarded to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcus got every other weekend. And child support substantial enough that, for the first time since marrying into the Reynolds family, I didn\u2019t feel financially cornered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I went back to work full-time. My parents stepped in without hesitation, turning their retirement into full-time grandparent duty. They never complained. Never made me feel like a burden.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Our life wasn\u2019t luxurious anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But it was honest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Peaceful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then came the Saturday morning when the black Range Rover pulled up in front of my parents\u2019 house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcus stepped out first.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And then her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sophia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Tall. Blonde. Draped in designer clothes that screamed money. She followed him into the house without waiting to be invited, wrinkling her nose as she looked around.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh my God,\u201d she laughed, picking up one of my mom\u2019s framed family photos. \u201cThis place is literally a dump. Like\u2026 a kennel.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWatch your mouth,\u201d I said sharply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She turned to Marcus. \u201cYou can\u2019t let your son stay here. With these<\/em> people.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That\u2019s when something inside me shifted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wasn\u2019t afraid anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I was angry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When they left, my dad found me later that night staring into a cold cup of coffee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSometimes,\u201d he said quietly, \u201cthe best defense is a good offense.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He told me about Mike Sullivan. A private investigator. Thorough. Discreet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Two days later, I was sitting across from Mike in a small downtown office, listening as he slid a thick folder toward me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSophia Lauron isn\u2019t her real name,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My hands started shaking as I read.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Escort. She wasn\u2019t just cheating with my ex-husband.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She was stealing from Reynolds Industries.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And selling their secrets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t move right away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because now I understood something Sophia didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Timing is everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The call from Victoria came on a Wednesday morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her voice was clipped, formal, like she was scheduling a dental procedure instead of speaking to the woman she once despised.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cJames\u2019s sixtieth birthday is this Saturday,\u201d she said. \u201cIt will be a family-only event. JJ should be there for his grandfather.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She paused deliberately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd since he\u2019s too young to come alone\u2026 you\u2019ll need to accompany him. As his escort.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Escort. Not guest<\/em>. Not family<\/em>. Escort.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTry to stay in the background,\u201d she added. \u201cAnd please don\u2019t embarrass anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I hung up and stared at my phone for a long moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Six months ago, I would have felt sick. Anxious. Small.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This time, I smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because my purse was already packed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n James Reynolds\u2019s birthday party was exactly what you\u2019d imagine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Crystal chandeliers. Gold-accented everything. Waiters gliding around with champagne flutes like they were on wheels. The mansion in Lake Forest looked less like a home and more like a museum dedicated to wealth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The moment JJ and I walked in, I felt the stares.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Some people pretended not to see me. Others whispered behind manicured hands. Victoria swept JJ away immediately, parading him from guest to guest like a prized possession.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stood near the appetizer table, clutching my purse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Waiting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then Marcus walked in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He had his arm wrapped around Sophia, who was wearing a red Valentino dress so tight and dramatic it looked like it had been designed specifically for attention. Diamonds sparkled at her ears. She was glowing under the admiration.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcus clinked his glass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI have an announcement,\u201d he said proudly. \u201cI\u2019d like you all to meet my future wife. Sophia Lauron.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Applause rippled through the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Victoria rushed forward. \u201cFinally,\u201d she said loudly. \u201cA woman worthy of the Reynolds name.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sophia preened. \u201cI\u2019m just so honored,\u201d she said sweetly. \u201cMarcus deserves the very best.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n That was my cue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stepped forward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSpeaking of what people deserve,\u201d I said clearly, my voice steady, \u201cthere are a few things everyone here should know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcus\u2019s face went white. \u201cTasha, don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I opened my purse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTell me,\u201d I said, pulling out the first document, \u201cSophia\u2026 or should I say Carla Larson \u2014 how is your sister feeling about you stealing her identity?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The room froze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sophia\u2019s smile collapsed instantly. \u201cThat\u2019s insane,\u201d she snapped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh?\u201d I continued calmly. \u201cBecause according to these records, the real Sophia Lauron is a schoolteacher in Minnesota. And you\u2014\u201d I pointed at her \u201c\u2014are Carla Larson. Former escort. Serial con artist.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n James snatched the papers from my hands, his face darkening as he read.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd here,\u201d I went on, laying out more documents, \u201care the bank transfers showing how she\u2019s been siphoning money from Reynolds Industries. Small amounts. Quiet amounts.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Gasps.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd these emails?\u201d I added. \u201cShe\u2019s been selling company secrets to Wagner Manufacturing and Collins Corp.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n James\u2019s face turned purple.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou cost us the Wagner deal,\u201d he roared. \u201cThat was twenty million dollars!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sophia backed away, heels clicking. \u201cMarcus, baby\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcus looked like he was going to throw up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGet out,\u201d James shouted. \u201cGet out of my house before I call the police.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n When she fled, James turned on his son.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou\u2019re fired,\u201d he said coldly. \u201cClear out your office by tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Victoria looked at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For the first time ever, her voice shook. \u201cWe were wrong about you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Three days later, Sophia was arrested at O\u2019Hare trying to flee the country.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Six months later, I\u2019m sitting in my own apartment. Not a penthouse. But warm. Peaceful. Ours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n JJ is asleep down the hall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcus lives in California now. Calls every Sunday. Never asks to speak to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And the Reynolds family? They finally see me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Last night, JJ asked, \u201cDo you miss Daddy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSometimes,\u201d I said honestly. \u201cBut life doesn\u2019t always go the way we plan. Sometimes it goes wrong before it goes right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n And you know what?<\/p>\n\n\n\n That\u2019s okay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because this ending?<\/p>\n\n\n\n It\u2019s better than the one I imagined.<\/p>\n\n\n\n the end<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I grew up in a middle-class neighborhood in suburban Chicago, the kind of place where lawns were trimmed on Saturdays and everyone waved even if they didn\u2019t… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1904,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10499","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-blog"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/informed24.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10499","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/informed24.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/informed24.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/informed24.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/informed24.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=10499"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/informed24.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10499\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10500,"href":"https:\/\/informed24.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10499\/revisions\/10500"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/informed24.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/1904"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/informed24.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=10499"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/informed24.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=10499"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/informed24.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=10499"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\u201cI can\u2019t believe I have to go home to her.\u201d
\u201cShe doesn\u2019t even realize what she\u2019s missing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDon\u2019t worry, I\u2019ll make it all better tomorrow.\u201d
\u201cWhen are you going to stop pretending?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The timestamps.
The hotel bookings.
The bank transfers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Identity theft.
Fraud.
Corporate espionage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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