Chapter 18 #2
"How are you holding up?" Amy asked, wrapping me in a hug. "I kept thinking about you all night, wondering if you were falling apart alone while that bastard ex-husband of yours figured out how to minimize the damage to his precious reputation."
"I'm okay," I said. "Better than okay, actually. I feel like I can finally stop pretending everything's fine when it obviously isn't."
We settled on the back patio with coffee and their food, three women in our fifties whose marriages had become sources of disappointment instead of joy. The afternoon was a little warm enough for sitting outside, and my backyard looked exactly like what it was.
"Tell us everything," Robin said, settling into a chair with the attention of someone prepared to hear whatever details I was ready to share. "How did Brett react when he got served? Was he shocked, or had he been expecting it?"
I told them about yesterday's confrontation, about Brett's initial denial followed by desperate bargaining when he realized his deception had been completely uncovered.
His promises to end the affair and sell the apartment and bring back all the hidden money, as if months of betrayal could be erased with better decision-making going forward.
"Classic cheater behavior," Amy said, nibbling cheese with the attention of someone who'd been analyzing her own husband's lies for months.
"They always want to negotiate when they get caught, like betrayal is just a business deal that went wrong instead of the complete destruction of trust and respect. "
"Did he try to make it your fault?" Robin asked. "Blame you for not being understanding enough or supportive enough or whatever excuse cheating husbands use to justify destroying their families?"
"He said I'd changed," I said, remembering Brett's parting comment with something that felt like satisfaction instead of hurt. "That I wasn't the woman he'd married. And he was right. The woman he married would have accepted his excuses and tried to save a marriage that wasn't worth saving."
"Good," Robin said fiercely. "Change is exactly what you needed. You spent twenty three years being the perfect wife to someone who didn't deserve your perfection."
We talked for two hours about divorce strategy and legal proceedings and how to protect my financial interests while Brett tried to minimize his support obligations.
Amy asked detailed questions about forensic accounting and asset recovery that indicated she was seriously considering hiring similar professionals to investigate Richard's financial behavior.
"I think I'm ready," Amy said quietly, stirring her coffee with the focus of someone working through the most important decision of her life. "To find out for sure what Richard's been doing, I mean. Watching you have the courage to face the truth makes me feel like maybe I can too."
"We'll help you," I said. "Whatever you decide to do with that information, whatever legal advice you need, whatever support you need to get through it. You don't have to face this alone."
Robin raised her coffee cup with a smile that looked equal parts sad and defiant. "To courage. To finally choosing ourselves instead of just accepting whatever scraps of attention our husbands feel like giving us."
"To sisterhood," Amy added, lifting her own cup. "To friends who tell the truth even when it's painful."
"To freedom," I said, clinking my cup against theirs. "Whatever that looks like."
Around four-thirty, Kimberly returned from errands with enough groceries to feed us for a week and the satisfied expression of someone who'd accomplished everything on her to-do list. She looked relaxed.
The simple act of running normal household errands had been therapeutic for her after yesterday's emotional intensity.
"Mission accomplished," she reported, unpacking organic vegetables. "Full grocery restock, dry cleaning retrieved, and I stopped by the pharmacy to pick up your prescriptions."
"Thank you," I said, grateful for any help managing domestic logistics while I processed the complete restructuring of my adult life. "How was the real world? Any sense that people know what's happening yet?"
"Not that I could tell. Mrs. Patterson waved from her garden, completely normal.
The grocery store clerks were friendly as always.
Nobody seemed to be looking at me like I was the daughter of the woman whose marriage just imploded spectacularly.
" Kimberly settled at the kitchen island. "I think the news hasn't spread yet."
"Good," I said, though I knew that wouldn't last long.
News traveled fast in our social circle, especially news about marriages ending, and prominent pharmaceutical executives being served with divorce papers would be a hot topic.
"We probably have a few more days before it becomes public knowledge. "
After Robin and Amy left, Kimberly and I made dinner while talking about her classes and whether she'd be able to concentrate on her studies knowing her family was imploding in real time.
She seemed remarkably calm about everything, like she'd been preparing for this conversation longer than I'd realized.
"I'm proud of you," she said, chopping vegetables.
"You finally fought back instead of just accepting things that weren't acceptable. You deserve so much better than someone who makes you feel invisible in your own marriage."
At six-thirty, we drove to Devin's game. The parking lot was already full of cars.
I found my usual spot in the bleachers, surrounded by other mothers who'd been attending these games for four years and had developed friendships that came from sharing the stress of teenage athletics and college recruitment.
They greeted me with the same care they always had, no curious glances or whispered conversations that suggested anyone knew about my divorce filing.
"Lauren," Carol Reynolds called from three rows up, waving like she was directing traffic. "Come sit with us. Katy rought those brownies you love, and we need someone to help us eat them before the boys finish warm-ups and start demanding sugar."
I climbed the bleachers with Kimberly following behind me, settling into the spot they'd saved between Carol and Katy Setler.
These women had been my community for years, showing up for every game and tournament and awards ceremony, celebrating our sons' victories and commiserating over their defeats.
"How's Devin handling the pressure?" Katy asked, unwrapping brownies that looked homemade rather than store bought. "Jake mentioned the UConn scout is coming to next week's game. That's got to be nerve-wracking for everyone."
"He's managing it well," I said, accepting chocolate that tasted better than anything I'd eaten in weeks. "More excited than nervous, I think. He's worked so hard for this opportunity."