“I’ll keep you in mind.”
Not “I’m married.”
“Wow! This room really was getting a full makeover.
New curtains, new furniture, new wife…”
Tom’s face drained of color. “I thought you had training.”
“Yeah. Changed my mind.
Decided I already had enough clowns for one day.”
Emily backed up. “I… I was just here to help with the room.”
“Really? Because I heard another offer minutes before.”
I turned to Linda.
Setting your son up with another woman while talking about me like I’m already out of the picture. Incredible work ethic — truly.”
Tom snapped, “You’re twisting everything.”
“No,” I said. “I listened.
You didn’t defend me once. Not when she trashed me. Not when she auditioned Emily as your upgrade.
Not when Emily flirted with you. You laughed. You flirted back.”
I walked to my nightstand, slipped off my wedding ring, and set it carefully in the little dish where I kept my earrings.
Emily’s eyes widened. Linda inhaled sharply, delighted.
You’re not exactly… exciting anymore.”
I stared at him. The man I’d married disappeared, replaced with a cheap knockoff built from his mother’s worst qualities.
Linda’s face lit up like she’d been waiting years for this moment. “Finally.
Maybe now you’ll pack your things and stop dragging this out.”
I let out a short laugh. Just stunned at how stupid they both looked standing there, united in their delusion.
Tom squinted. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” I said, lifting the small overnight bag, “I was going to stay with my friend tonight so I wouldn’t have to watch you two pack yours.”
Linda’s smirk vanished.
“Excuse me?”
“This,” I said, sweeping my hand around the room, “is my house. I paid for it. Decorated it.
Maintained it. And, you’ll remember this part, Tom, our prenup says a cheating spouse gets nothing from the marital assets. Not even a throw pillow.”
“You’re calling this cheating?”
In answer, I pulled my phone from my pocket, unlocked it, and tapped a file.
The room filled with their own voices: “If you’re ever single… I’ll keep you in mind.”
“And just in case that isn’t compelling enough,” I continued, sliding out my second phone, “here.”
I held up a series of photos: The satin scrunchie. The black tights. The red dress sprawled across my side of the bed.
All timestamped.
Tom stepped forward. “This doesn’t prove—”Continue reading…
