Chapter 12 - The Night Marcus LeftNia followed him.
“Marcus.”
He kept moving.
“Marcus, don’t do this.”
He stopped at the door.
“Don’t do what?”
“Leave angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
That frightened her.
He looked exhausted.
“I’m going to Andre’s.”
Andre was Marcus’s coworker and closest friend, a man Nia knew well enough to trust around Jaylen but not well enough to call during a crisis.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
Nia’s panic rose.
“You said you weren’t leaving.”
“I said I wasn’t making a dramatic exit that first night.”
“So now you are?”
“No.”
Marcus looked toward the living room.
Jaylen was asleep.
“I’ll pick him up from school tomorrow like always. I’ll bring him home. I’ll take him Saturday morning like planned.”
He looked at Nia.
“I’m leaving this conversation, not my child.”
Her throat tightened.
“What about us?”
“That is the conversation I can’t keep having while every day gives me a new document.”
Nia stepped closer.
“My lawyer asked for the messages.”
“And you gave her the one that made me look worst.”
“She said relevant communication.”
“Did you give her the next messages?”
Nia went still.
Marcus nodded.
“Exactly.”
The next messages in that old thread had been:
MARCUS:
I mean I want to be active.
MARCUS:
I’m not taking him from you.
MARCUS:
I just never want him wondering where his dad is.
Nia closed her eyes.
“I should have included them.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll correct it.”
Marcus’s voice cracked.
“That’s the whole problem.”
She opened her eyes.
“You keep correcting things after they hurt me.”
The door closed quietly behind him.
No shouting.
No broken furniture.
No dramatic speech.
Just absence.
Nia stood in the entryway listening to the deadbolt click from the outside.
Her greatest fear had happened.
Marcus had left the apartment.
And she had helped cause it.
The next morning, Jaylen asked where Daddy was.
Nia crouched in front of him.
“Daddy slept at Uncle Andre’s.”
“Why?”
“Grown-up stuff.”
Jaylen frowned.
“Is he mad?”
Nia forced herself not to use the child for comfort.
“Daddy loves you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Nia nearly cried.
“He and Mommy are having a disagreement.”
Jaylen thought about this.
“Like when I don’t want broccoli?”
Nia smiled through tears.
“Kind of bigger.”
“Daddy always comes back after work.”
Nia kissed his forehead.
“Yes.”
She hoped she was not lying.
Marcus picked Jaylen up that afternoon.
He did not enter the apartment.
Nia brought their son downstairs.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.”
Marcus buckled Jaylen into the back seat.
Nia stood nearby.
“Can we talk later?”
“After the conference.”
“That’s two days away.”
“I know.”
“Marcus, I sent the complete text thread this morning.”
He looked at her.
“Good.”
“I told my lawyer I want every document accurate.”
“Good.”
“That’s all you’re going to say?”
“What do you want?”
“I want to know whether this is over.”
Marcus shut the car door gently.
“I don’t know.”
Nia looked devastated.
“I’m trying.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t matter?”
“It matters.”
He met her eyes.
“But trying after trust breaks doesn’t automatically rebuild it.”
Then he drove away.
The settlement conference took place in a plain courthouse room.
No dramatic judge.
No pounding gavel.
A mediator reviewed financial information and encouraged resolution.
Nia’s lawyer, Patrice Lowell, acknowledged corrected expenses.
Dana presented Marcus’s documented contributions.
The mediator asked whether the parties currently cohabited.
Nia answered, “Not this week.”
Marcus felt the words land.
The mediator clarified.
“Are you separated?”
Nia looked at Marcus.
He answered first.
“Temporarily.”
Patrice suggested they focus on child-related finances rather than relationship status.
Marcus agreed.
The financial numbers revealed something surprising.
If Marcus and Nia actually separated, guideline support might be significantly lower than Nia had imagined because Marcus already covered insurance and substantial childcare costs, and because Nia’s income—including freelance earnings—was higher than originally disclosed.
The mediator said gently, “A support order is not designed to create emotional security. It addresses financial responsibility.”
Nia looked down.
Afterward, in the courthouse hallway, she leaned against the wall.
“I built this into something it wasn’t.”
Marcus stood several feet away.
“Yes.”
“I thought the court would make me feel safe.”
“Do you?”
She looked at him.
“No.”
Marcus nodded.
Patrice approached with a folder.
“Nia, there’s another issue before we leave.”
Nia frowned.
“What?”
“Opposing counsel provided documentation of household transfers to your aunt.”
Yolanda’s repayments.
Nia nodded.
“I disclosed those.”
Patrice lowered her voice.
“The concern isn’t the repayments.”
She pulled out a bank statement.
“There’s a transfer from the same account two years ago for twelve thousand dollars.”
Nia stared.
“I never transferred twelve thousand.”
Marcus moved closer.
Dana handed him a copy.
The transaction showed:
$12,000 — cashier’s check.
Marcus looked at Nia.
She looked genuinely confused.
“That wasn’t me.”
Both attorneys became quiet.
Marcus studied the date.
Two years earlier.
The week his tax refund and annual bonus had landed in their joint account.
He remembered the balance dropping—but at the time Nia had told him the money had gone toward debt.
Marcus’s chest tightened.
“Nia.”
“I swear.”
“If you didn’t move it…”
They both looked at the account authorization page.
A second authorized signer had existed at that time.
Temporary, added while Nia recovered from surgery and needed help managing bills.
Aunt Yolanda.
May you like
![92 The Girl They Called Broke Was a Billionaire’s Daughter—But Her Father’s Arrival Exposed a Secret Powerful People Had Buried for Years]](https://cdn.treeiq.biz/site_590/2026/11/clone-0-0915d882-53d7-4d17-b43a-a010ca1a1068.webp)
Nia’s face went white.
For the first time, the financial betrayal in their apartment might not belong entirely to either of them.
Related Stories
