Chapter 1
My husband's secretary, Matilda Palmer, sent me a picture.
In the picture, my husband, Rhett Shelton, was fast asleep, with my coat draped over him.
Matilda captioned it: [Mrs. Shelton, Mr. Shelton had a bit too much to drink. He's crashing at my place tonight.]
I stared at the photo for three seconds and then smiled.
With a quick tap, I took a screenshot of the photo and the chat and blasted it to the company group chat with almost a thousand members.
I typed: [Congratulations, Ms. Palmer, on your promotion to Mrs. Shelton.]
I hit send, powered off my phone, and that was that.
Two days later, when I finally turned my phone back on, it was nearly frozen from hundreds of missed calls.
*****
Matilda sent me a photo.
My phone screen lit up, and a message popped up.
In the picture, my husband Rhett was sound asleep, his profile pressed into a pure white hotel pillow.
The lighting was dim and suggestive, casting a glow on half his face.
He was covered with my gray cashmere coat.
Beneath the photo, a line of text said: [Mrs. Shelton, Mr. Shelton had a bit too much to drink. He's crashing at my place tonight.]
I couldn't take my eyes off that coat.
I'd helped Rhett put it on before he headed out this morning.
The collar still had a smudge of my lipstick from our morning hug.
I didn't bother replying.
With a tap, I took a screenshot.
I had two images: the photo and the chat.
I opened the company group chat with almost a thousand people in it.
I picked the two screenshots I'd grabbed.
Then, I typed in the message box: [Congratulations, Ms. Palmer, on your promotion to Mrs. Shelton.]
I hit send.
When the sending was done, I powered off my phone.
The world went quiet.
Beyond the living room's floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights formed a silent ocean.
I walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured myself a glass of whiskey.
The ice clinked sharply against the glass.
It was our fifth wedding anniversary.
On the table sat the custom cake I'd picked up this afternoon, designed as a black swan.
Rhett had called earlier, saying he had an important business dinner he couldn't get out of.
He promised he'd make it up to me later.
So this was what he called "business dinner."
So this was his idea of "making it up to me."
I walked over to the cake, glass in hand.
The black swan held its head high, elegant and proud.
I reached out and gave it a gentle push.
The swan toppled over, its neck breaking as it fell into the soft cream.
What a pity it was.
I tossed back the whiskey in one gulp, the sharp burn stinging my throat.
It was perfect.
We'd been together for eight years together, from college days to walking down the aisle, from having nothing to ringing the bell at our company's IPO.
It was time to put a full stop to this story.
I walked into the walk-in closet and dragged out the biggest suitcase.
I started packing up my things.
I took everything that belonged to me.
Not a single thing of his came with me.
As for the couple shirts we bought together, the pricey jewelry he gave me, and all those keepsakes from our history, I left them all behind.
One by one, I took them out and tossed them into the trash bag.
It felt like a full-on purge.
Through it all, I felt nothing but calm.
There were no tears or screaming in rage.
I was like a surgeon, cold and clinical, operating on myself and cutting away what was dead inside me.
It hurt, but there was no other way.
Two hours later, the suitcase was packed to the brim.
Three large trash bags sat next to it.
The 24-hour moving company I'd booked showed up on time at three in the morning.
The movers worked in silence, loading my things into the truck with quiet efficiency.
I took one last look at the home I'd made my own.
Our wedding photo still hung on the wall.
In the picture, I was beaming with happiness.
Rhett's eyes were so tender that it looked like he was about to drown in affection.
I walked over and took the photo down.
Then, I let it slip from my fingers.
It hit the floor with a loud bang.
The glass frame shattered across the floor.
"Let's go," I told the movers.
The truck pulled out of the neighborhood and merged into the city traffic.
I didn't look back.
The new place was an apartment I'd bought months ago, kept empty just in case.
I always told myself a woman should have a backup plan.
Looking back, that was the right call.
Once I'd settled my bags, dawn was already breaking.
I took a hot shower, changed into clean pajamas, and lay down on a bed that didn't feel like mine.
I wasn't sleepy at all.
Lying there, I started going over everything that had happened.
Matilda, Rhett's secretary, had been with the company for a year and a half.
She was young, pretty, a top school grad, and talented.
That was what everyone at the office said about her.
Whenever I brought Rhett lunch at the office, she'd rush over with a bright smile, chirping "Mrs. Shelton," in that sugary-sweet voice.
She always remembered I liked black coffee, and before I walked in, she'd have a cup of my favorite coffee steeping and ready.
She'd subtly demonstrate how perfectly she and Rhett worked together, never obvious, but always in front of me.