The Divorce He Asked For, The Empire I Took Away Chapter 05

The Divorce He Asked For, The Empire I Took Away Chapter 05

Marcus had posted a new statement on Facebook.

[A misunderstanding has been resolved. Please stop spreading rumors.]

Several coworkers liked it.

Vanessa had posted at thrée in the morning

[Things aren’t always what they seem. A clear conscience needs no defense.]

When someone asked what happened, she replied, [Nothing. Someone misunderstood me.]

I saved both posts.

A clear conscience.

I intended to find out exactly how clear hers was.

I organized the screenshots and bank records, uploaded them to encrypted cloud storage, and saved another copy in my email.

I created folders by date and gave every file a neutral name.

If Marcus gained access to my phone or Vanessa deleted her posts, the originals would still exist beyond

their control.

I lay on the hotel bed and stared at the ceiling until another unfamiliar number lit up my phone.

Then Marcus’s father called.

His voice was steadier than his wife’s, but the demand was the same. “Delete the post and come home.

This scandal is ugly.”

“The screenshots have already circulated.”

“You can’t simply disappear with the marriage certificate. What are you planning?”

“A divorce.”

After several quiet seconds, he said Marcus claimed nothing had happened and that I had overreacted.

“Marcus transferred more than four thousand dollars from our joint account to Vanessa. Is that nothing?”

The silence lasted longer.

“How much?”

“At least $4,600. I have the statements.”

I heard his wife speaking nearby. Then the call ended.

Twenty minutes later, Marcus called.

“What did you tell my father?”

“The truth.”

“You went through my account?”

“It is our joint account. I have every right to review it.”

His tone softened after a pause. “I lent Vanessa the money.

She was struggling.”

“You loaned marital funds without asking me?”

“I was afraid you would misunderstand.”

“You prevented misunderstanding by secretly giving another woman thousands of our dollars?”

He had no answer.

I reminded him about the scarf he presented in front of me, bought with money that belonged to both of us.

“Stop digging through old transactions,” he said.

“They are not old. They are still happening.”

I ended the call and contacted Dana Foster, a coworker seven years older than me who had survived a

difficult divorce and built a good life afterward.

I texted to ask whether she had time to talk. Her answer came almost immediately: “Come over. I’m home.”

I requested a car and went to her apartment.

She poured tea and sat across from me. “I saw the post.

What are you planning?”

“Divorce.”

“Does he agree?”

“No.”

“Then use the legal process. What evidence do you have?”

She reviewed the photograph, transfers, texts, and screenshots, then handed my phone back.

“This is useful, but prepare yourself. He won’t sign without a fight.”

“I can wait.”

Dana studied me. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that Vanessa sent the picture herself?”

I did not understand.

“People hide affairs. She sent proof directly to the wife and added that little apology.

Does it sound like an apology or a declaration of war?”

If Vanessa felt guilty, Dana said, she would have ended the affair, not staged a photograph for me.

She wanted me to know. Once I knew, I would either collapse or create a scene, and either reaction would make me look unstable.

My fingers tightened.

“You think she planned it?”

“I don’t know, but consider who loses most. You and Marcy’s are married, with property and reputations tied together.

She can cry, change social circles, and move on.”

People might sympathize with me for three days, then remember only that my marriage became public

gossip.

Vanessa had no shared mortgage, savings, or legal status to lose. Exposure could stain her name, but divorce would restructure my entire life.

Dana’s words cut deeper with every sentence.

I took a sip. It had gone cold.

“What should I do now?”

“Stop broadcasting. You have leverage, so bring everything inward and document it.”

Vanessa sent another message.

[Meet me tomorrow. I have to tell you something in person.

Marcus’s situation is not as simple as you believe.]

Dana read it.

“Go,”

” she said. “Record the conversation.

New York permits one-party consent.”