Chapter 3
Stuart came home for dinner.
He walked through the door holding two boxes of tacos, my favorite once upon a time.
He was always like this.
After he did something wrong, he would always offer up these small, precise gestures, as if he were patching up the surface of a crumbling marriage.
I sat at the dining table, unmoving.
He opened the boxes, acting like nothing had happened. "Eat while they're hot. The doctor said you need to take care of yourself now."
I fixed my gaze on him. "Stuart, do you have any idea what I found in the bedroom today?"
His hand froze mid-motion.
He asked, "What?"
I said, "That box of yours."
His expression shifted in a heartbeat.
I continued, "Photos of Isabel, ticket stubs, and postcards. You kept them in perfect condition, not a speck of dust on them."
He said, "Camille, that's just old stuff."
"Old stuff?" I let out a laugh. "Does old stuff collect an allowance every month?"
Stuart's face darkened. "Do you have to talk like that?"
I said, "Then how should I put it?"
I slid the divorce papers I had printed out earlier across the table.
I said, "Sign them."
Stuart didn't even glance at them and pressed his hand down on the papers.
He said, "I won't sign these."
I said, "Why not?"
"You're not thinking straight right now."
"I'm thinking straight."
Stuart stared at me, his voice growing cold. "Camille, I'm upset about the baby too, but you can't use divorce as a threat because you're hurt."
"I'm not threatening you," I replied.
"Then what do you want? You want me to stop seeing Isabel?"
"Yeah."
Stuart looked at me as if I had said something completely absurd, and frowned. "She really needs help right now."
I suddenly laughed.
My eyes stung with tears.
I said, "Stuart, even now, that's still your answer.
"You never denied that you have feelings for her.
"You never threw away any of her things.
"Our home is just like hers. Your tastes align with hers. Did you even choose me because I looked like her the first time I wore a white dress?"
Stuart flinched, his gaze jolting hard.
I knew I had nailed it.
He had never admitted it.
But all the little things had already made the truth obvious.
Isabel and I didn't really look alike.
It was that, for those years, I wore my hair long, loved white dresses, and always tilted my head when I smiled.
That happened to be how she looked when she was younger.
I used to avoid thinking about it, because once I did, the whole marriage would feel tainted.
I said, "Why did you marry me? Was it because you liked me?
"Or was it because she didn't want you, and I looked like the perfect person to help you live out the dream you couldn't have with her?"
Stuart's face slowly drained of color, shade by shade.
"No," he said.
"But you couldn't even deny it right away," I said.
I slid the divorce papers closer to him.
"If you won't sign them, I'll file for divorce with the court," I said.
Stuart shot to his feet, the chair scraping harshly against the floor.
"Camille, do you really have to push things this far?" he asked.
I looked up at him, so calm I barely recognized myself.
I said, "I'm not the one who made things come to this.
"I'm the one who lay on an operating table having a miscarriage, while my husband was spending money on another woman.
"I'm the one who lived in a house built as a stand-in for three years, only to end up losing my baby anyway.
"I'm the one who's finally done playing the perfect wife."
Stuart's lips moved.
He probably wanted to say sorry.
But what he actually said was, "Don't let anyone know about this until the funding round is over."
The last bit of warmth in my heart went out for good.
So in his eyes, even the timing of my divorce had to take a backseat to his company.
I nodded.
I said, "Fine.
"I won't make a scene until the funding round is over.
"But from now on, don't touch anything of mine, and don't expect me to keep up appearances for you."
That night, I moved into the guest room.
*****
The next morning, I went to the bank to split our joint account.
When the teller printed out the transaction history, I stared at the pages and pages of transfers, my fingers going cold.
There were thirty-six regular transfers and twelve extra payments.
One of them was four thousand dollars, for Edith's tuition at an international preschool.
The payment was made with the supplementary card we shared after getting married.
Most of the time, that card was funded by the money I earned from freelance gigs and bonuses.
So for three years, Stuart had been using the money I worked for to support Isabel and her daughter.
Standing in the bank lobby, I suddenly burst out laughing.
The teller looked a little uneasy, asking cautiously, "Miss, are you alright?"
I folded up the transaction history and put it in my bag, shaking my head.
I said, "I'm fine.
"I just learned for the first time how valuable I am.
"I can support my husband and his first love at the same time."