Chapter 8
I woke up at five-thirty in the morning and was surprised to still be breathing.
Not in a dramatic, life or death way, but in the quiet shock of discovering that your world can implode completely and your body just keeps functioning anyway.
Heart still beating, lungs still working, alarm clock still demanding you participate in the performance of normal life.
The video was still on my phone. Still real. Brett still kissing another woman like she was the answer to prayers he'd been saying for years.
I sat on the edge of our bed in the gray pre-dawn light, staring at the device in my hands like it contained nuclear codes. Then I did what any practical woman would do when her marriage collapsed via text message.
I backed up the evidence.
Screenshots to my photo album. Video saved to three different cloud accounts. Email forwarded to an address Brett didn't know about. I was systematic about it, methodical in the way you handle important documents that might determine your financial future. Which probably would.
Twenty three years of marriage, and I was documenting its end like a paralegal preparing for litigation.
The doorbell rang at seven-fifteen, which was unusual enough to make me check the security camera on my phone.
Kimberly stood on our front porch holding an overnight bag and looking like she'd been crying for hours.
My beautiful daughter, who should have been in school studying, was instead standing at my door at dawn because her mother's life had just disintegrated on camera.
I heard her key in the lock before I made it downstairs. She was already coming through the foyer when I reached the bottom step, and the look on her face told me everything I needed to know about how much sleep she'd gotten after sending that video.
"Mom," she said, and her tone cracked on the single syllable.
I nodded because speaking seemed impossible.
We stood there for a moment, my twenty one year old daughter and me, both of us understanding that this was the moment our family officially broke apart.
Then we were holding each other in the middle of the hallway, crying without making a sound because Devin was still asleep upstairs and some conversations needed to happen in private first.
Kimberly felt smaller in my arms than I remembered, like carrying what she'd had to tell me had physically diminished her.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered against my shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Mom."
"Don't apologize," I managed. "You did exactly what you should have done."
We cried for a few more minutes, holding each other in the desperate way people do when something precious has just been destroyed and there's no way to put it back together.
Eventually, we made our way upstairs to my bedroom, closing the door quietly so we could talk without waking Devin. Kimberly sat cross-legged on my bed like she used to when she was little and had nightmares that required comfort and rational explanations for why monsters weren't real.
Except this time the monster was very real, and I was the one who needed comforting.
"Tell me what happened," I said, settling next to her with tissues from the nightstand.
Kimberly wiped her eyes and took a shaky breath. "Sarah Mahoney. You remember her from high school? She was at my graduation party two years ago."
I nodded. Quiet girl, played violin, and had gotten into Northwestern for music.
"She's dating this guy from Texas now, and they went to the game yesterday.
Sarah texted me the video around because she thought it was you with Dad at first." Kimberly's tone got smaller.
"She said they looked so happy together that she almost didn't say anything, but then she realized the woman was too young to be you. "
The detail about them looking happy struck me like a blow. Of course, they looked happy. People in love usually did.
"It's the same woman," Kimberly continued. "The blonde from the restaurant. I'm sure of it."
I told her about Alison Crawford then. Harvard Law School, Director of Legal Affairs, an expert in European Union regulations who was probably making Brett's expansion deal possible in more ways than one.
I told her about the credit card statements and the jewelry and the phone call I'd overheard, watching my daughter's face process the information like she was solving an equation that kept getting more complicated.
"How long have you known?" she asked.
"Suspected for a while. Known for sure since yesterday morning when you sent that video."
"God, Mom. I'm so sorry you've been carrying this around alone."
I reached for her hand, surprised by how stable my own felt. "I wasn't ready to know for sure. Sometimes suspecting something is easier than having proof."
"What are you going to do?"
The question I'd been avoiding since three in the morning when I finally stopped watching the video and started thinking about logistics.
What was I going to do? File for divorce?
Confront Brett? Pretend I'd never seen anything and continue living in a marriage that was apparently over for everyone except me?
"I don't know yet," I said. "But we're not telling Devin. Not today."
Kimberly nodded immediately. "He's got that UConn visit next week. He doesn't need this right now."
"Exactly. Let him have his moment. We'll figure out how to handle the rest later."
"Whatever you decide," Kimberly said, squeezing my hand, "I'm on your side. Leave him, stay with him, burn the house down, and move to Europe. I've got your back."
The fierce protectiveness in her tone reminded me of myself at her age, when I'd believed love was simple and betrayal was unforgivable and women who stayed with cheating husbands were just weak.
Before I understood how complicated it became when you had children and mortgages and twenty three years of shared history to consider.
"Thank you," I said. "That means everything."
We dried our eyes and went downstairs to make breakfast, transforming ourselves into people who weren't falling apart. Kimberly started coffee while I scrambled eggs, both of us moving with the normalcy of actors who knew their audience would be arriving soon.
Devin appeared in the kitchen at eight-thirty, his hair sticking up in three directions. He looked like exactly what he was, a seventeen-year-old boy whose biggest concerns involved baseball recruitment and whether Madison Fletcher was actually interested in going to homecoming with him.
"Kim!" He wrapped his sister in a bear hug that lifted her off the floor. "What are you doing here? Don't you have like organic chemistry torture sessions or whatever?"
"Midterms got moved," Kimberly said smoothly. "Thought I'd come home and eat real food for a day before my brain completely melts."
"Smart. Mom's been cooking way too much food since you left. I think she's having separation anxiety."
I poured orange juice and listened to my children banter about college food and high school gossip and whether Devin was actually dating Madison Fletcher, which he denied with such vehemence that it indicated he absolutely was.
"She's just a friend," he insisted, though his face turned red when he said it.
"Right," Kimberly said, stealing bacon from his plate. "That's why you've mentioned her exactly fourteen times since I got here."
"I haven't mentioned her fourteen times."
"You mentioned her in three different conversations we've had in the past hour. About homecoming, about her helping you with calculus, and about her coming to your last game. That's definitely not just friends behavior."
I watched them tease each other with the easy affection that had somehow survived adolescence and college separation, feeling thankful that at least this part of our family was still intact.
Whatever happened between Brett and me, the kids would be okay.
They were strong and smart and loved each other enough to weather whatever chaos was coming.
My phone rang at nine-fifteen. Brett's name on the screen, right on schedule for his morning check-in from whatever hotel room he was sharing with his girlfriend.
"Morning," I answered, proud of how normal I sounded.
"Hey, beautiful. Did I wake you?"
Beautiful. He called me beautiful like it was just another word, not something you said to someone you were supposed to find attractive after twenty-three years of marriage and months of choosing someone else over them.
"No, I've been up for a while. Kimberly surprised us. She's home for the day."
"Oh! That's wonderful. Is she okay? No college crisis that requires parental intervention?"
Kimberly was watching me from across the kitchen, her expression supportive. She could probably hear him through the phone, could witness me performing the role of unknowing wife for her cheating husband's benefit.
"She's fine. Just missed home cooking and wanted to see Devin before his big UConn visit."
"Tell her I said hello. And give her a hug from her old dad."
Old dad. Like he was some beloved family patriarch instead of a man who was currently committing adultery in Texas while his daughter sat at his kitchen table knowing exactly what he was doing.
"I will. How are the meetings going?"
"Really well. Better than expected, actually.
The European partners are impressed with our regulatory compliance strategy.
" He paused, probably looking at Alison while he said it.
"We should have everything wrapped up by this afternoon.
I'm planning to catch the one o'clock flight, so I should be home by six. "
Home. Where his wife and children lived while he built a life with someone else two thousand miles away.
"Great," I said. "I'll make dinner."
"Perfect. I miss you, Lauren."
"Miss you too," I said.
After I hung up, Kimberly reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
"That looked hard," she said quietly.
"It was. But it's good practice for whatever comes next."