Chapter 9 #2
After he went upstairs, Kimberly appeared at my elbow with the expression of someone who'd just witnessed a fascinating psychological experiment.
"He's good," she said quietly. "Really good. If I didn't know what I know, I'd think he was just a successful businessman happy to be home with his family."
"He's had months of practice," I said, wiping down counters that were already spotless. "You get very skilled at lying when you do it every day."
"How are you holding up? That was a lot of listening to him describe his romantic weekend without being able to say anything."
I thought about it. How was I holding up? I'd expected to feel rage or devastation or at least some kind of emotional turmoil. Instead, I felt strangely detached, like I was watching someone else's life implode from a safe distance.
"I think I'm done," I said, out of nowhere. "Not angry, not hurt, just done. He can have his brilliant Alison and his exciting business trips and his VIP box football games. I'm tired of competing for attention from my own husband."
"Good," Kimberly said fiercely. "He doesn't deserve you. He never did."
Devin wandered into the kitchen looking for leftover dessert, and we switched back to safe topics. Homework and practice schedules and whether Madison Fletcher was definitely coming to his next game.
"She's coming," he admitted, face turning red. "I might have mentioned that college scouts would be there."
"Smooth," Kimberly said, stealing his ice cream. "Nothing says romance like impressing a girl with your athletic prowess."
"Shut up. It's not like that."
"Right. That's why you've been texting her every five minutes since I got home."
I listened to my children banter while thinking about the shower running upstairs, about Brett washing off evidence of his weekend with someone who wasn't his wife. Soon he'd come downstairs expecting to "catch up properly" with the woman he'd been lying to for months.
I could do it. I could sit on our couch with a glass of wine and listen to more stories about Dallas and nod in appropriate places and ask questions that proved I was paying attention to his happiness. I'd been playing this role for so long it was second nature.
But I didn't want to anymore.
"I'm going to get some air," I announced, grabbing my jacket from the closet. "Just a quick walk around the block."
"Want company?" Kimberly asked.
"No, thanks. I need a few minutes to think."
Outside, the evening was cool and clear. I walked past houses where families were settling in for the night, lights glowing warmly in windows, the comforting illusion of domestic happiness on display.
Twenty three years ago, Brett and I had been one of those happy couples starting our life together. We'd had plans and dreams and absolute certainty that love would be enough to overcome any obstacle. We'd been wrong about a lot of things, but we'd been right about love being powerful.
The problem was that love had to be mutual to survive. One person couldn't sustain a marriage alone, no matter how hard they tried or how much they were willing to sacrifice.
I'd been trying to save something that was already dead. Brett had moved on months ago, maybe years ago. I'd just been too stubborn or scared or loyal to admit it.
But I wasn't scared anymore. Watching my husband kiss another woman had burned away the last of my illusions about what we were and what we could become.
I pulled out my phone and did something I'd been avoiding for months. I googled "best divorce attorneys New England" and started reading reviews.
Lindsay Garland at Garland & Associates had excellent ratings for complex financial cases. Daniel Messner specialized in high-asset divorces with minimal drama. Deanna Walsh was known for protecting women's interests while maintaining family relationships.
I bookmarked all three and made mental notes about which ones offered free consultations.
By the time I got home, Brett was downstairs in the family room with a glass of wine and the relaxed posture of a man ready to share the details of his successful business trip with his appreciative wife.
"There you are," he said, patting the couch cushion next to him. "I was starting to worry."
"Just needed some fresh air," I said, settling beside him with distance between our bodies. "The house felt stuffy."
"How was your weekend? I know family gatherings can be overwhelming, especially during your mom's difficult days."
"She was great. Really present and happy. The ocean house was beautiful, and Devin charmed everyone by talking baseball with the relatives." I accepted the wine he handed me and took a sip. "It was exactly what she needed."
"I'm sorry I missed it. I know how important these gatherings are to you."
He was sorry. He kept saying that, kept apologizing for choices that weren't really choices but priorities that made his preferences clear. Work over family, Alison over me, his happiness over everyone else's needs.
"It's fine," I said, because it was. I was finally understanding that his absence was a gift rather than a disappointment. "Everyone understood."
We sat quietly for a few minutes, two people who'd shared most of their adult lives together but had somehow become strangers. Brett scrolled through his phone while I pretended to watch the news, both of us going through the motions of companionship without connection.
"I should probably get some sleep," he said around ten-thirty, stretching and yawning like a man who'd had an exhausting but satisfying few days. "Tomorrow's going to be crazy, catching up on everything that happened while I was gone."
"Of course," I said. "I'll be up in a few minutes."
After he went upstairs, I sat alone in the family room with my wine and my phone, researching divorce attorneys like other people researched vacation destinations. Reading about asset division and custody arrangements and how to protect yourself financially when a marriage ended.
Lindsay Garland’s website had a section about emotional preparation for divorce that made me feel less alone.
"The decision to end a marriage is rarely sudden," she wrote.
"Most clients have been considering this step for months or years before they finally seek legal counsel.
The process begins long before the paperwork is filed. "
She was right. The process had begun months ago during those first moments of noticing Brett's distance and making excuses for his behavior. It had accelerated after I'd found evidence of his affair and chosen to gather more proof instead of confronting him immediately.
Tonight was just the moment I'd finally admitted what I'd known for weeks. Our marriage was over, and I was ready to stop pretending otherwise.
I finished my wine and headed upstairs, where Brett was already asleep with his back turned toward my side of the bed. He looked peaceful and untroubled, like a man with a clear conscience and no secrets to keep.
Tomorrow I'd call Lindsay Garland and schedule a consultation. Then I'd start the process of untangling twenty-three years of shared everything.
But tonight, I lay in bed next to my husband and felt something I hadn't experienced in months.
Relief.
The kind that came from finally stopping the exhausting work of trying to save something that didn't want to be saved.
Twenty-three years.
It was time to start living for me.