Chapter 7
Odette
I stood in front of my closet after Wynn applied my makeup, applied some products in my hair, and made me look like a somewhat decent version of myself.
Sure, no amount of makeup could hide the bags under my eyes from weeks of not sleeping, my hair had lost some of its shine, which I'm sure is from not properly eating, and nothing—and I mean nothing—in my closet was going to hide the amount of weight I had lost. After Wynn’s come to Jesus' moment, I was making an effort, a serious one.
I had always been a terrible cook, but Wynn loved it.
She showed me peace in the silence, my mind focused on recipes so much that I ended up getting lost in them, but it was saving me.
All I had to do was add certain ingredients together, cook it at a specific temperature and for a predetermined amount of time.
I didn't have to make any decisions, and it was so damn comforting that I had forgotten why I hated to cook in the first place.
My frown was firmly in place as I continued to look at my clothing options.
My brown hair and green eyes went best with shades of blue, green, purple, sometimes the right shade of red, but none of those seemed appropriate.
Wynn said I should walk in with my head held high and show him no response.
I asked her why? Why should I lie? I want him to see the damage he's done.
I'm trying my best to glue myself back together, but I won't hide my pain from him.
Why does everyone think that pain makes you weak?
I'm surviving; I'm enduring the heartbreak my husband inflicted on me with no sense of remorse.
He'd probably still be fucking her if I hadn't walked in on them.
Bethany had come over yesterday, the day before mediation, to go over some things.
She walked into my cozy cottage that I was spending much of my free time decorating, anything to keep my mind and hands busy.
I needed a safe place for myself, especially since I'd been feeling so emotionally raw and cracked open that I felt unsafe.
I didn't know how else to word it, but I did.
Her usual stern but carefree face was pulled into an unwelcome grimace.
"Okay, you might as well just tell me," I told her.
"I'm good at my job, so the second I took on this case, I had my firm's PI start looking into your husband.
I mean, if they are lying about having a girlfriend, what else are they lying about, you know?
" She shrugged it off, but I felt like my world had stopped.
"We needed to make sure he wasn't doing anything illegal, have any offshore accounts, things like that. "
"And?"
"Luckily for him, he came back clean in that aspect.
..however, we did find evidence of the affair he's been having.
Some emails, a few texts. They work together; she seems to be a receptionist for a colleague.
It didn't appear that he spent much time with her, and when he told you he was working, most of the time he was. "
"Okay." I didn't know what else to say. Should I be happy that my husband wasn't screwing me over financially? He was clearly too busy screwing someone else.
She took a good look at me. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"
I sighed. "No."
She looked at me with sympathy and went on to talk strategy while I did my best to listen. I couldn't help but start to disassociate, and while my body stayed sitting at the kitchen nook with Bethany, nodding at her talking points, my mind was floating in a sea of before.
Clothes, I mentally scolded myself, back to the matter at hand.
My eyes caught on a black dress that I had once bought for the funeral of an old teacher.
It hit above my knee, with a small dip in the neckline, and it was sleeveless.
It looked like someone had died, and even though no one had, it was the death of something—the death of my marriage.
------------
The drive to the mediator's office had me picking at the hem of my dress.
Bethany had offered to drive me since I had never been to this part of the city before.
She let me know that a lot of times her clients were too emotionally taxed to do much driving after, and since she had a place near mine, it was no extra trouble for her at all.
"Just remember, you don't need to do much talking. This can be between me and his lawyer."
"You clearly haven't met Murphy."
"I've had the pleasure of speaking with him." The same grimace she had on her face yesterday was back.
"Oh?" I half-heartedly inquired. I didn't really want to know, I just wanted this to be over.
She gave a slight nod, but did not expand on that any further.
The drive after that was quiet, I was too lost in my thoughts and nerves to hold any semblance of a good conversation. A gentle tap to my shoulder from Bethany signaled that we were here. The drive to the city, which normally felt like it took too long, didn't take nearly enough time today.
"Let's do this."
I nodded at her and took a few seconds to steady myself.
I wouldn't hide my pain from him; he deserved to see it all.
Making my way out of the car, she grabbed my hand and gave it a quick squeeze as we made our way through the parking lot and into the obnoxiously large skyscraper.
She waved at the receptionist, who barely bothered to scan her badge, and before I knew it, she was punching the button twenty-eight.
I felt like my stomach was left on the ground floor as the elevator climbed the floors, and all too soon, the familiar ding signaled our arrival.
We walked into a conference-like room and met with the mediator first, who introduced himself as Anton.
And even though my radar for people is clearly broken, I think I'd be willing to bet my broken marriage on him being gay.
At that thought, I almost let out a hysterical giggle—see, I could be funny?
But if I didn't laugh about it, I'd be crying.
He seemed nice, fair, and level-headed. He explained that Murphy and his lawyer were already here, that there would be someone recording in the room, and that everything that was said today would be handed over to a judge for a final ruling.
He explained this was about the state of our marriage, and custody wasn't part of this.
Since it seemed we had a good agreement right now, they felt there was no reason that it should change.
He gave me a look and a nod, signaling it was time to enter the room that was conjoined by the door right behind him.
He opened it and gestured for us to go through, and as if sensing my hesitation, Bethany went first, and I followed.
Finally coming face to face with my husband after almost a month.
I had spent hours trying to prepare myself for this moment, but nothing could.
He sat there, looking the same—perfect skin tone, no red-rimmed eyes.
He looked like he'd at least been able to eat.
Why was I here, then? If he was completely fine, then why the fuck was I here?
I felt my face flush in anger, but not before I saw his half-smirk.
He thought I was flushing because of him.
Bethany held out a chair for me, and I sat across from Murphy but kept my eyes firmly on his lawyer.
He was an older gentleman, short, a little stocky, originally dark hair that was now littered with speckles of gray.
Much to my shock, he seemed to have a friendly, plump face.
It was disarming, and I bet that was part of his appeal.
"I've spoken with both parties about the rules.
This is to go over the terms of the divorce since a party is contesting," Anton said, his gaze flowing to Murphy and his representation.
"We want to see if we can amicably come up with a solution that both parties are happy with.
Very rarely do we come up with a solution in the first session; you are allowed two mediation sessions before we take everything before a judge for a final decision.
It is in my expert opinion that you resolve and agree on terms before that happens, as no one ever gets what they want if a judge must make the decision for you.
Now, since Mr. Lake is the one contesting the divorce, let's start with them. What terms are you unhappy with?"
Instead of Murphy speaking, his lawyer answered, "Mr. Lake would like to discuss the possibility of reconciliation."
Anton nodded and then turned his gaze to Bethany. "That is not something my client is willing to entertain."
Silence greeted her response. I took a chance and glanced at Murphy, where rage was morphing his features, and he bit out, "Divorce isn't an option for me."
"And staying married to someone who engages in extra marital affairs isn't an option for my client.
Really, Wilson?" Ah, so that was his lawyer's name, Wilson.
"Please tell me you didn't force my client and me to come here with hopes of reconciliation.
The answer has been no for weeks, and it's no now. "
I could feel Murphy's gaze boring into the side of my face. I did not want to be here; why was he doing this to me? Couldn't he just do the one thing I've asked him, and that's to let me go?
"I understand that has been the consensus thus far, but my client hasn't even been able to talk to his wife for the last few weeks. She completely cut him out, won't even give him the time of day, a chance to explain..."
That's it. That's it. I've spent all this time being sad, hurt, grieving the end of our life and our marriage, and he's sitting there like a motherfucking peacock, showing off his feathers because he's pretty.
Because he thinks so goddamn highly of himself that he figured if he could get me into a room, I'd bend over like the good submissive little wife I've always been and take him back.
I don't want to be here.
"No," I said, my voice shaky.
"Baby... Please, look at me."
My eyes snapped to his. "You know the last time I heard someone say the word baby? It was when I walked in on you fucking that woman, and she called you baby to get your attention after I interrupted."
"You don't understand!" He banged his fist on the table.
"This is your one and only warning,” Anton interrupted. “There will be no physical outbursts in this room. Need I remind you that it’s my job to report to the judge everything that goes on here, to sort through if we cannot come to a resolution."
My gaze met Murphy's head on. I let him see all the pain, hatred, and disgust for the first time in weeks.
I didn't hide anything. You can love someone with every fiber of your being but know you can't be with them.
He's fucking tainted . Every time I look at him, I hate him as much as I love him, and while my love fades, my hate grows. See that .
"You don't understand... It isn't what you're thinking."
"Not what I'm thinking..." I parroted back to him, making sure to keep my voice void of emotion.
"Yes, not what you're thinking." You could tell he thought he was getting somewhere.
"So, what am I thinking?"
"You're thinking that I'm in love with this woman, you're thinking that what she told you was true, that I was no longer in love with you, regretted you, regretted Lux... That’s not it. I just—"
"You just, what?" I asked, my voice cold.
He looked at me, really looked at me. Right now, at this moment, I wasn't feeling anything but immense disgust for him, and the fact that he was trying to rationalize his affair because he wasn't in love with her made me sick.
"It was just sex."
I full on laughed. "So, you threw me, your wife, away for just sex ?"
His face paled. Where he thought he was making headway, he realized he was digging his own grave. "No, that's not it."
"So, you were in love with her then, and what...? She didn't want the kid?"
"Okay, I think we are getting off topic here..." Anton interjected.
"Just stop this, Odette. Just stop! Come home. If you come home, we can talk, and we will figure this out. You're my wife."
"I was your wife, and according to you, someone you threw away for ‘just sex.’ Like I said, reconciliation is not an option for me."
"No, that's not possible. You’re my wife."
"I stopped being your wife the second you fucked someone else.
So, fuck off, Murphy, just fuck off," I whisper-shouted at him.
"Haven't you done enough? Haven't you gotten your pound of flesh yet?
Jesus, Murphy . You were fucking someone else for months!
You know what I had to do? I had to go get tested, alone .
I had to tell my doctor, who I've been going to for years, that I needed an STD test because my loving husband had been fucking someone else behind my back, and God knows how many before her.
I sat there for days wondering if Lux was going to be a sister.
I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and you can tell.
You come in here and make a mockery of me and our marriage by thinking I would just come home .
News flash, Murphy, you aren't my home anymore.
You never will be. I'm so sick of this; I want to be free, I want to move on, I want to forgive you, and I want to leave you and our marriage firmly in the past. But I can't do that with you doing this.
You made your bed, and you chose to lie in it with her, so now lie in it. "
I couldn't help the tears that were freely flowing, and I vowed this would be the last time I cried over him.
"There was a time in my life where I thought you would never hurt me; you became my entire universe, and I would have done anything for you.
Now the thought of being near you makes me nauseous, the thought of you touching me brings me to the verge of getting physically ill.
I look at you and all I see is you slamming in and out of her.
I hate you more than I love you. You can't save this. "
He sat there, stock-still, the muscle in his jaw ticking. I knew that meant he was mad, and that this was not what he expected today.
"I think we are done here," Bethany said as she got up, and that was my cue to get ready to leave.
I spared one last glance at Murphy, and I saw the lone tear he tried to swipe away when he saw me turn.
"Please, just let me go."
And then I made my exit.