We talked for a few more minutes, Marcus offering to be a witness if I needed one, giving me the contact information for his wife, who had been through a divorce and might have attorney recommendations, just being kind in a way that reminded me there were still decent people in the world. After we hung up, I immediately forwarded the photos to Rebecca with a message.
“File first thing this morning. Serve him at his office during his nine a.m. team meeting. I want everyone to see.”
Her response came through two minutes later. She was apparently awake too.
“Consider it done.”
Then another message:
“This is going to be very satisfying.”
I set my phone down and sat in the quiet kitchen for a moment, just breathing. Then I stood up, walked to the wine fridge, and pulled out the bottle of champagne we’d been saving for our tenth anniversary. Expensive French champagne his parents had given us as a wedding gift, the kind you’re supposed to save for milestones. This felt like a milestone. I didn’t bother with a glass. I just opened the bottle. The cork popped satisfyingly loud in the silent house, and I carried it outside to the backyard. The pool lights were still on, casting rippling blue patterns across the patio. I sat on one of the lounge chairs and took a long drink straight from the bottle. It tasted like freedom. And somewhere upstairs, Levi was sleeping, completely unaware that by nine the next morning his whole life was going to implode. I stayed up until almost three, sitting in the backyard with that champagne bottle, watching the pool lights make moving patterns on perfectly still water. Eventually, I went inside, climbed the stairs, and paused outside our bedroom door. I could hear Levi snoring, deep and regular, the sleep of someone unburdened by guilt or consequences. I slept in the guest room. Didn’t bother with pajamas. Just lay down on top of the covers in the clothes I had worn to the gala, which already felt like it had happened years ago instead of hours. I didn’t really sleep. I just closed my eyes and waited for morning.
At 6:30 a.m., I heard Levi’s alarm go off. Heard him moving around in the bedroom, the shower running, closet doors opening and shutting, the familiar rhythm of his morning routine. I stayed in the guest room until I heard him go downstairs, then got up and went to the bathroom to wash my face. I looked terrible. Puffy eyes. Smudged makeup. Tangled hair. I didn’t care. When I came downstairs, Levi was in the kitchen making coffee. He glanced at me and I saw him register that I had slept in the guest room, but he didn’t mention it. He just poured coffee into his travel mug, added the exact amount of cream and sugar he always used, screwed the lid on tight. He was whistling, actually whistling some tune I didn’t recognize while he gathered his keys, wallet, and phone from the counter. Like the night before had been a minor disagreement we had already moved past. Like telling your wife to walk away in front of dozens of people was just something that happens sometimes. No big deal. Life goes on. He thought he had won. That I had sulked in the guest room. That he had stood his ground about networking. That this morning everything would reset to whatever dysfunctional normal we had been living in for months. He had no idea what was about to happen. He walked over and kissed the top of my head, not my lips, not even my cheek, just a perfunctory kiss on my hair like I was a child or a pet.
“Have a good day,” he said, in that absent tone people use when they are already thinking about something else.
“You too,” I said quietly.
I watched from the kitchen window as he backed out of the driveway. Watched him pause at the stop sign at the end of our street. Watched his car disappear around the corner, heading toward his office, where in exactly ninety minutes his entire world was going to implode in the most public way possible. I felt nothing. No guilt. No second thoughts. No last-minute urge to call Rebecca and tell her to wait, to give him one more chance to handle this privately instead of destroying him professionally. Just cold, clear certainty that it was exactly what needed to happen. I poured myself fresh coffee, not the cheap beans Levi bought, but the expensive bag I had been hiding in the back of the pantry, the one I only used when he wasn’t home because he’d complain about the cost. I made it in the French press he never used because he said it took too long. Added real cream instead of the artificial creamer he preferred. Then I sat at the kitchen table with my phone and waited.
At 9:03 a.m., Rebecca texted.
“Process server just arrived. Heading into the building now.”
My heart started pounding despite the calm I had been carrying all morning. This was it. The moment everything became real and irreversible. At 9:17 a.m., another message came.
“Papers delivered.”
