My Husband’s Ex-Girlfriend Is Sleeping in Our Marriage Bed Chapter 02

My Husband’s Ex-Girlfriend Is Sleeping in Our Marriage Bed Chapter 02

I spent the night in the guest room, wide awake.

At 2:00 AM, I went to the kitchen for a glass of water.

The living room was dim, lit only by a single wall lamp. Julian was on the sofa, his collar open, with a glass of water and fever reducers on the table.

Vivian was sitting next to him, draped in my knit cardigan, wiping away tears.

“I didn’t mean to intrude, but I just couldn’t take it anymore. Arthur Reed keeps hounding me for money. He threatened to take Leo away. Since I got back, I’ve been staying in a budget motel by the airport. Leo’s fever hit 104, and I don’t even have enough for the hospital bill.”

Julian handed her a tissue, his voice low and rumbling.

“Don’t worry about that now. The boy comes first.”

As she took the tissue, her fingertips brushed the back of his hand.

It was a small gesture, but the familiarity was blinding.

“Julian,” she looked up at him, her eyes red. “If I hadn’t left back then… would things be different between us?”

I froze in the shadows.

Julian remained silent for a long time. He didn’t answer.

But that silence told me everything I needed to know. This marriage hadn’t just cracked today.

The cracks had been there all along. Today, they just finally became visible.

I’m a divorce lawyer.

In six years of practice, I’ve seen every red flag a dying marriage has to offer.

Phones on silent. Short texts. Coming home late. Impatience with a wife, yet endless patience for another woman.

The final nail in the coffin is when a man starts asking his wife to “understand” the other woman.

I used to think my job made me paranoid. I tried so hard not to bring my cases home with me.

But standing in that dark hallway, I realized that the person best at helping others cut their losses was the same person who had been playing deaf and blind in her own life.

The next morning, Vivian was already in the kitchen.

Her hair was tied back, and she was wearing my cream apron, making pancakes and eggs..

The morning sun hit the kitchen, and the sizzle of the pan felt like a scene from a “happy family” catalog.

She gave me a timid, embarrassed smile when she saw me.

“I woke up early and wanted to be useful. I hope you don’t mind that I made breakfast.”

I glanced at the table. She had poured milk into my “Mrs. Vance” mug.

Julian had bought that for me on a business trip last year.

Without a word, I walked over, took the mug, and poured the milk directly into the sink.

The white liquid swirled down the drain.

Vivian gasped.

I grabbed a disposable paper cup, filled it with water, and slammed it down in front of her.

“When you’re a guest, use the guest cups. Don’t touch what isn’t yours.”

Her face went pale.

Julian walked out of the study just in time to see the exchange, his brow furrowing.

“Sloane, it’s just a mug.”

“And it’s just a paper cup.”

I rinsed my mug, dried it slowly, and placed it on the very top shelf of the cabinet.

“Some things are private. Don’t touch what isn’t yours.”

The tension was suffocating.

Vivian jumped in immediately. “Julian, please. It’s my fault. I’ll be more careful.”

Her retreat made me look like the villain.

It was an old trick, but still effective.

Halfway through breakfast, Leo knocked over his milk.

The liquid soaked right into the case files I needed for court today. The ink began to bleed into a ruined mess.

Before I could say a word, Julian had already scooped the boy up.

“Are you okay? Did it burn you?”

I looked at the pile of soaked documents and felt a sudden, hollow exhaustion.

I had been working this divorce case for three months. The hearing was today.

My client had been cheated on, gaslit, and nearly left with nothing. I had spent ninety days building the perfect evidence chain for her.

Now, a glass of milk had destroyed it all.

Vivian stood up, frantically grabbing tissues, looking like she was about to burst into tears.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching him. Sloane, let me help you clean this up.”

I pushed her hand away and looked at Julian.

“The files are ruined.”

He glanced at the table, but his tone remained dismissive. “Just reprint them. He’s just a kid; he didn’t do it on purpose.”

I stared at him, speechless.

Finally, I let out a short, dry laugh. I picked up the dripping files and turned to leave.

Julian followed me to the door.

“I’ll drive you.”

“No thanks.”

“Sloane.”

I stood at the elevator and hit the ‘down’ button. I turned to look at him.

“Julian, have you reached a point where you just assume I’m the one who’s supposed to take the hit?”