3. Camille
— ? —
Camille
The room closes in around me.
My mother sits in her usual armchair, expression carefully neutral.
My father stands by the fireplace, arms crossed, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.
Jared is trying to look remorseful and failing spectacularly.
And Alexis - my baby sister, my flesh and blood - is curled against my husband with tears streaming down her face and her hand on her stomach.
Pregnant.
My sister is pregnant with my husband’s child.
I think about the year I spent tracking my ovulation. The vitamins I choked down every morning. The temperature charts I obsessed over. The months of hope curdling into disappointment while Jared said maybe it’s just not meant to be for us.
And the whole time, he was putting a baby in my sister.
“We didn’t plan this,” Jared says, using his reasonable-client voice. “But now that it’s happening, I want to be there for my kid. I’m hoping you can be mature about this, Camille.”
Mature.
He wants me to be mature.
“This baby is going to be family regardless,” my mother adds, leaning forward. “We need to find a way to move forward together.”
“Your mother’s right,” my father chimes in, still not looking at me. “Alexis made a mistake, but she’s still your sister. And this child deserves to know its aunt.”
I look around the room, at my husband, at my sister, at my parents who have apparently already decided that keeping the peace is more important than acknowledging that their daughter has been gutted.
All of them looking at me like I’m the problem.
“Let me make sure I understand.” My voice comes out calm, clinical, like I’m discussing the weather. “You all want me to forgive my sister for sleeping with my husband for eight months... because she got pregnant?”
“It’s not about forgiveness, it’s about family-”
“No, Mom.” I stand, and something cold settles into my chest. “It’s about consequences. And none of you think Alexis should have any.”
“Camille, please!” Alexis wails. “I never meant to hurt you! I love him! I couldn’t help it!”
“You couldn’t help it?” I laugh, and it’s not a nice sound. “You couldn’t help spreading your legs on his desk for eight months?”
“CAMILLE!” My mother looks scandalized.
“What, Mom? Too crude? But the actual act is fine as long as we don’t talk about it in polite language? As long as we pretend my sister wasn’t fucking my husband while I was crying myself to sleep every month because I thought I couldn’t give him children?”
Silence.
I grab my purse.
“Jared, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer. I’m filing on Monday.”
His face flickers, surprise, then calculation, then something ugly underneath. “You’re making a mistake. I’ll fight you for everything.”
“Good luck with that.” I smile, letting him see exactly how much I know. “I’ve seen your offshore accounts, Jared. All of them.”
The color drains from his face.
I turn to Alexis.
“I hope he treats you better than he treated me. But based on his track record, I wouldn’t count on it.
” I hold her gaze, watching her flinch. “When he gets bored - and he will - remember that you showed him exactly what kind of woman you are. One who’ll fuck her sister’s husband. What makes you think you’re special?”
She sobs harder, and I feel nothing.
I look at my parents one last time.
“You want to play happy family with them? Fine. But I won’t be part of it.” I open the front door. “Consider this my resignation from the family.”
I walk out.
I make it to my car before the tears come, ugly, gasping sobs that shake my whole body. But even as I cry, something else is building in my chest.
Something that feels like a blade being drawn.
I don’t just want a divorce.
I want annihilation.
I dry my eyes and open my phone. Search for “best divorce attorney in the city.”
The first result: Diane Whitmore. Specializes in high-asset divorces. Known for destroying cheating husbands.
I dial the number.