Page 15

“I said I was sorry. What more do you want? You ruined everything.”

“Mom is beside herself. Everyone’s talking about it. Are you happy now?”

“The least you could do is answer me.”

I scrolled through them, each one a masterpiece of narcissistic manipulation. Everything was about her. Her pregnancy. Her humiliation. Her stress. Not a single acknowledgment of what she had done.

Garrett’s messages were worse.

“Sam, please. Let me explain.”

“Where are you? I’m worried.”

“Your friend won’t tell me anything. This is insane.”

“You’re not answering anyone. People are concerned.”

“What you did was cruel. We could have handled this privately, you know?”

“I made a mistake but that doesn’t mean you get to destroy everything.”

“This isn’t like you. Are you having some kind of breakdown?”

“Your mom thinks you might need help. Professional help.”

That last one made me laugh, because of course he was already spinning the narrative. Poor Garrett, whose crazy wife had a mental breakdown at their wedding. Poor Garrett, victim of an unhinged woman who couldn’t handle a little marital stress.

When had I surrounded myself with these kinds of people? With these manipulative, egoistic, narcissistic, awful kinds of people?

I screenshotted everything. Every message, every missed call, every attempt to rewrite history with me as the villain and him as the concerned husband.

Then I did what I should have done hours ago. I got up, peeled off the dress, and threw it in the motel bathtub. Looking at it made me want to set things on fire, and arson charges wouldn’t help my divorce proceedings.

The shower was lukewarm and the water pressure was pathetic, but it washed off the hairspray and the makeup and the general film of betrayal that had been clinging to my skin. I used the motel’s complimentary shampoo that smelled like industrial cleaner and tried not to think about the shower I should have been taking in a luxury hotel in Rome with my husband.

Ex-husband. Soon-to-be ex-husband. Whatever.

I put the damp dress back on because it was that or be naked, and drove to the nearest Walmart. At seven in the morning. The cashier didn’t even blink, which said disturbing things about the clientele of that particular Walmart.

I bought jeans, t-shirts, underwear that wasn’t lingerie, sneakers. A duffel bag to put it all in. Basically the opposite of a trousseau. The whole transaction felt surreal, like I was shopping for someone else’s life.

Back in the motel room, I changed into normal clothes and felt almost human again. Human enough to check my email, where a message from the Cedarbrook listing agent was waiting.

“Ms. Collins, thank you for your interest in the property. The house is still available and the seller is motivated. They’re willing to accept a below-market offer for a fast close. When would you like to schedule a viewing?”

I replied immediately. “I’d like to make an offer. Cash. Fast close. Whatever they’re asking, I’ll pay it.”

Probably not the best negotiation tactic, but I needed out. Out of this state, of this life. Out of everything that reminded me of the disaster my existence had become.

While waiting for the agent to respond, I googled divorce lawyers. Found one with excellent reviews and a consultation available Monday morning. I called and left a voicemail, trying to sound like a rational human being and not someone who’d publicly destroyed their husband twelve hours ago.

My phone buzzed. Another text from Garrett: “People are talking. Videos from the reception are online. This is humiliating for both of us. We need to handle this together.”

Videos. Of course there were videos. Two hundred people with smartphones and not one of them had the decency to just enjoy the show without recording it.

I searched my name on social media and immediately regretted it. The videos were everywhere. Different angles of the same disaster. Sophie’s moaning. Garrett’s desperate lunge for my phone. My voice, clear and vicious, telling everyone about the infidelity.

I made all my accounts private and tried not to think about potential clients googling me. At least my face wasn’t clear in most of them. Small mercies.