Chapter 16 #2
We spent the next hour looking at proof that my marriage had been over longer than I'd been willing to admit, crying together over wine.
"You should stay at a hotel tonight," Robin said, her protective instincts overwhelming her respect for my decision-making abilities. "You shouldn't be alone in this house, surrounded by reminders of years with someone who's been lying to you about everything that matters."
"I can't," I said, wiping my nose with tissues that weren't adequate for the scope of my emotional breakdown. "If Brett comes home and I'm not there, he'll know something's wrong. I need him to think I'm still clueless until Lindsay serves him with papers."
Robin nodded like this made sense, though I could see she hated the idea of leaving me alone with evidence of my husband's betrayal and the wreckage of everything I'd thought was real about my life.
"Then I'm staying," she said, pulling out her phone to text David about unexpected overnight plans. "You're not processing this alone."
She called David while I made us sandwiches neither of us would eat, explaining that I wasn't feeling well and needed company without providing details that would require longer conversations about marriage problems and financial deception.
"He's worried about you," she said after hanging up. "Wanted me to tell you that if you need anything, anything at all, just call."
I almost started crying again. David, who barely knew me beyond social gatherings and charity functions, was more concerned about my well-being than my own husband had been in months.
Robin slept in the guest room, close enough that I could hear her through the wall that separated us. Her being here was comforting in a way that reminded me of childhood sleepovers when the worst thing that could happen was your best friend stealing the covers or hogging the good pillow.
I lay awake until almost three, thinking about Brett and Alison in their Manhattan apartment, probably making love in the bed he'd bought with money he'd hidden from our marriage.
The thought should have made me angry, but mostly I just felt empty.
Hollowed out by the realization that while I'd been organizing charity fundraisers and planning family dinners, my husband had been building a complete life with someone else.
The next morning, Robin made breakfast while I showered and prepared to meet with Lindsay Garland, who would transform Randy Parker's surveillance evidence into legal weapons that would destroy my marriage faster than Brett could execute whatever exit strategy he'd been developing.
"You're going to be okay," Robin said, hugging me goodbye with fierce loyalty that made female friendship worth cherishing. "Better than okay. You're going to be free."
At ten o'clock, I sat in Lindsay's office with a folder containing photographic evidence of my husband's complete betrayal, ready to file divorce papers that would end our marriage and force Brett to face consequences for choices he'd probably assumed would never be discovered.
"This is excellent documentation," Lindsay said, reviewing Randy Parker's surveillance report. "More than enough to establish grounds and protect your financial interests. We can file today."
"Do it," I said, feeling certain. "File everything. I'm done being married to someone who's already moved on without bothering to tell me."
An hour later, I walked out of Lindsay's office as a woman who'd finally stopped being a victim and started being a strategic opponent in the war my husband had been waging against our marriage for over a year
At eleven thirty, I was in Dr. Jones's office with tissues and coffee, ready to process what I'd learned about betrayal and self-worth and the difference between being loved and being convenient.
"I hired a private investigator," I said, pulling out my phone to show her photographs that documented the end of my marriage.
"My husband has been living a double life.
Complete double life. Apartment, furniture, domestic partnership with someone who probably thinks she's dating a man who's separated from his wife rather than someone who's been lying to his family for over a year. "
Dr. Jones looked at the evidence calmly, though I caught something in her expression that hinted she wasn't surprised by what I was showing her.
"How are you feeling about this discovery?" she asked, setting down my phone like it contained evidence that was important but not shocking.
"Like an idiot," I said, with honesty that came without self-pity or dramatic interpretation. "Like someone who's been trying to solve a puzzle while half the pieces were missing, making excuses for why nothing fit together properly."
"You're not an idiot for trusting your husband," Dr. Jones said gently. "You're not responsible for his choices to deceive you while you tried to save something he'd already decided to end."
We talked for fifty minutes about betrayal and self-worth and the difference between healthy skepticism and paranoid suspicion. About how intelligent women could miss obvious signs of deception when they loved someone enough to make excuses for behavior that should have raised immediate red flags.
"I'm filing for divorce," I told her as our session ended. "Papers will be served tomorrow or Friday. This marriage has been over longer than I was willing to admit, and I'm tired of being the only person fighting for something that doesn't want to be saved."