Chapter 11 #4
"Right. Space to figure out if there's anything left worth saving, or if we're just going through the motions because it's easier than admitting we've grown into completely different people who happen to share a mortgage and a social circle.
" Her expression got more thoughtful. "I love David, but I'm not sure I like him anymore.
And I'm definitely not sure he likes me.
We've become roommates who occasionally have sex and coordinate our calendars to avoid spending too much time together. "
I thought about Brett's breakfast performance that morning, about his sudden interest in romantic gestures and family vacations to see the northern lights. Was that him trying to save our marriage, or just going through the motions because divorce was complicated and expensive and socially awkward?
"I need to tell you something," I said, before I'd consciously decided to share this burden with anyone else. "Something big. But not here, not with all these people around."
Robin's attention sharpened immediately, her coffee cup freezing halfway to her lips. "What big thing? Are you okay? Is it one of the kids? Your mother?"
I looked around the bustling fundraiser, at Margaret counting registration fees with the satisfaction of someone whose organizational skills had produced excellent results, at Renee directing volunteers who were setting up additional chairs because we'd exceeded our expected attendance, at Claire and Susan still engaged in conversation about something that was making them both gesture emphatically.
This wasn't the place for confessions about adultery and divorce attorneys and the complete implosion of everything I'd built my adult life around.
"Can we meet Monday morning? You, me, and Amy at Marie's Roast? I'll text Amy about it tonight, to make sure she can be there."
"Lauren, you're scaring me. What's going on? This is about Brett, isn't it?" Robin set down her coffee and looked at me with the intensity of someone who'd known me for twenty years and could read subtlety in my expressions that other people missed. "Something's happened."
I nodded, not trusting myself to say more without revealing details that needed proper time and space to be shared appropriately.
If I started talking about affairs and video evidence and hidden jewelry, I'd probably start crying, and crying at a literacy fundraiser would create exactly what our social circle fed on for months.
"Monday morning," Robin said firmly, reaching across the small table to squeeze my hand. "Ten o'clock. I'll make sure Amy's there, even if I have to drag her out of bed myself and drive her there personally."
The rest of the brunch passed as a rush of thank-you speeches and final auction bidding and the satisfied exhaustion that came from organizing events that exceeded everyone's expectations.
People approached me throughout the afternoon to compliment the organization, to thank me for my hard work, promised to write additional checks because they felt inspired by the cause and wanted their generosity to be noticed and appreciated.
Margaret made a brief speech about the literacy programs we were supporting, complete with statistics about childhood reading levels and educational outcomes that made writing large checks feel like moral imperatives rather than charitable choices.
Renee announced the silent auction winners with enthusiasm like someone revealing lottery numbers, generating applause and good-natured complaints from people who'd been outbid on items they'd wanted.
By the time we finished counting donations and packing up auction items, we'd raised nearly thirty thousand dollars for literacy programs. Money that would buy books and educational supplies for kids who needed them most, funding that would make a real difference in children's lives regardless of what was happening in my personal world.
It should have felt like victory. Instead, it felt like performing in a play about someone else's life while my real world crumbled behind the scenes, hidden from everyone who thought they knew me.
I drove home thinking about Monday morning's conversation, about the relief of finally sharing this burden with the two women who'd known me longest and best. They'd be shocked, probably angry on my behalf, definitely supportive in ways that would make the next few months feel less lonely.
But they'd also have questions I wasn't ready to answer and advice I might not be ready to hear.
The house was still empty when I arrived, which gave me time to think about my next moves in the strategic game I was learning to play.
Tonight I'd research more divorce attorneys, maybe schedule consultations with two or three to compare approaches and fee structures.
Tomorrow I'd figure out how to access Brett's phone records without arousing suspicion or leaving digital traces that could complicate divorce proceedings.
And Monday morning, I'd finally stop carrying this secret alone.