The Divorce He Asked For, The Empire I Took Away Chapter 03

The Divorce He Asked For, The Empire I Took Away Chapter 03

Her voice was not openly hostile, but her politeness carried condescension.

“Lydia, could you delete the Facebook post? Vanessa cried all night.

Her eyes are swollen.”

Wind pushed my hair across my face as I stood outside the condo complex.

“She sent me the photograph.”

“I know, but private matters should not be posted online. If you make this public, how will Vanessa ever have a respectable relationship?”

I pushed my hair back and changed hands on the phone.

“Your daughter held my husband for a photograph, and you’re asking me how she’ll find another man?”

“She made a childish mistake. You’re older.

Can’t you show some generosity? Turning it into a scandal helps no one.”

“It helps me.”

I told her there was nothing else to discuss and that Vanessa could speak for herself.

Then I crossed the street to a cafe, bought coffee and a breakfast sandwich, and ate slowly on the patio.

My phone kept vibrating. I silenced it and placed it facedown.

After breakfast, I called my mother.

“Mom, I may be getting divorced.”

The line stayed silent for three seconds.

“What happened?”

“Marcus is involved with Vanessa.”

“Your college friend Vanessa?”

“Yes.”

After another pause, my mother said, “Come home.”

“Not yet. I need to handle a few things first.”

“Can you manage alone?”

“I can.”

“Then remember one thing. Don’t go soft.”

I held the phone and promised I would not.

After hanging up, I turned my phone over. Coworkers had tagged me in group chats, and college friends had sent private messages.

I ignored all of them and enlarged Vanessa’s photograph again.

Her hand rested on Marcus’s chest. She had shown me the new manicure at our last dinner and said it cost eighty dollars.

I paid for that dinner.

I closed the image, opened Notes, and began a timeline.

First: Marcus claimed he was in Albany but went to Montauk. Dates: Wednesday through Sunday.

Second: Vanessa sent the photograph at 9:47 p.m.

Third: marital assets, including condo, car, savings, and retirement accounts.

Fourth: certified marriage certificate in the second drawer of the nightstand.

Then I added a fifth line.

Vanessa knew our Wi-Fi password and had a spare key.

I froze.

I set down my phone and stared at the ring of moisture beneath my coffee cup.

The previous month, after dinner at our condo, I gave her the key so she could visit easily.

She smiled and said, “You’re so good to me.”

The locks needed to change.

I bought a new cylinder at a hardware store. When I returned to the building, Vanessa stood beside the security entrance with tissues clenched in one hand.

Her eyes really were swollen.

She hurried toward me. “Lydia…”

“Give me the key.”

She blinked. “What?”

“The spare key to my home.”

Her lips trembled. She removed it from her key ring and held it out.

I put it in my pocket.

Her eyes reddened again. “I know you hate me, but this isn’t what you think.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

“Marcus pursued me first.”

“And because he pursued you, you agreed?”

“I rejected him several times, but he kept coming back. I never meant to hurt you.”

“You never meant to hurt me, but you photographed yourselves and sent it to me.”

“I wanted to confess.”

“That wasn’t a confession. It was a notification.”

Wind tangled her hair. Tears slid down her face.

“What do you want from me? Do you expect me to humiliate myself and beg?”

I did not respond to the performance. I entered the building and let the door close behind me.

Vanessa shouted through it. “You can’t put every bit of blame on me!”

The old key pressed painfully into my palm as the elevator rose.

My front door was ajar.

Marcus’s mother sat on the couch. He was gone.

“Sit down,” she said. “We need to talk.”

I remained in the entryway. “Where is Marcus?”

“He went to speak with his father. Let me mediate.

Delete the post, and we can put this behind us.”

I placed the new lock cylinder on the shoe cabinet.

She frowned. “What is that?”

“A new lock.”

Her face changed. “Stop making a scene.

Are you determined to tear this home apart?”

“Ask your son how many nights he spent at the beach with Vanessa and whether they booked one room or two.”

For the first time, she had no answer.