From the outside, my husband, Matthew Ellison, seemed like the perfect partner. Responsible, considerate in public, and ambitious, he impressed our friends and associates. I was often told I was lucky to have married a man who seemed so stable and so determined to build a future.
We lived in a large, modern house in the Lincoln Park neighborhood of Chicago. On weekends, we usually walked to cafes near the lake, had long breakfasts, and sometimes spent the afternoon strolling in Millennium Park discussing our investment and travel plans, like any well-off, middle-class urban couple.
When he told me that his company had offered him a position in Seattle, I was the first to rejoice. I remember staying in the kitchen, a glass of wine in hand, while he explained this opportunity to me, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.
“This is the step I’ve been waiting for,” Matthew said confidently. “In just two years, Brooke. After that, we can expand our investments here in Chicago and maybe even start our own business together.”
Two years of separation seemed difficult, but I believed in our marriage and the future we had built together.
During those two years, I stayed in Chicago and managed all of our assets. This included several rental properties we owned in Evanston and Naperville, as well as our stock market investments and other financial projects.
I trusted him completely because he was my husband and because I loved him. Residential rentals
Everything would have gone smoothly were it not for an incident three days before his scheduled flight. That afternoon, Matthew returned home earlier than usual, carrying several boxes from a storage unit. He placed them in the living room with obvious enthusiasm.
“I’m getting ready,” he said, cutting the tape off a cardboard box. “The cost of living is higher there, so I want to bring useful things.”
While he went upstairs to take a shower, I went into the office because I needed to find some documents related to one of our rental agreements. His laptop was open on the desk.
I wasn’t looking for anything unusual. I simply wanted to find a digital copy of one of our tenants’ rental agreements.
But then I discovered something that changed everything. A confirmation email was open on the screen. It was for the rental of a luxury apartment in Oak Brook, a suburb about forty minutes from our home.
The apartment was fully furnished and the contract duration was exactly two years.
Two registered residents were named in the agreement: Matthew Ellison and Stephanie Dalton.
There was also a short note from the property manager written at the bottom of the message.
“Please include a crib in the master bedroom, as requested.”
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