Slowly, mechanically, they raise their glasses.
We drink.
The champagne tastes like victory.
The evening doesn’t end there.
We make Derrick and Vanessa sit through the entire dinner. We order dessert. We make small talk about the weather and Madison’s dance class and Nathan’s construction projects. We act like we’re two couples on a double date.
Every second is torture for them and every second is deeply, darkly satisfying for us.
By the time we finally leave the restaurant, Vanessa is in tears and Dererick looks like he’s been hit by a truck.
Nathan and I walk out together, leaving our respective spouses to follow behind us.
“Well,” Nathan says quietly. “That was something.”
“That was everything.” I correct him.
He looks at me and for a moment I see my own pain reflected in his eyes. We’re both victims of the same betrayal. Both sitting in the wreckage of marriages. We thought we’re solid.
“What now?” He asks.
Now I take a deep breath.
“Now I’m filing for divorce.”
“Taking everything I can.”
“Making sure Madison is protected and making sure Dererick understands exactly what he’s lost.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
He pauses.
“Hey Amber, thanks for reaching out for all of this.”
“I needed to see it to really understand what she was capable of.”
“You too,” I say. “I couldn’t have done it alone.”
We exchange a look of understanding. Then we turn back to face Dererick and Vanessa.
“Derek,” I say, “Don’t come home tonight.”
“I’m changing the locks in the morning.”
“You can’t do that.” He starts.
“Watch me.”
“You can stay at a hotel or with her. I don’t care.”
“But you’re not sleeping in our bed ever again.”
“What about Madison?”
“What about her?”
“You should have thought about her before you started this.”
“I’ll tell her you’re on a business trip. I’ll figure out the rest later.”
“But you don’t get to see her until I talk to a lawyer.”
“Amber, please.”
“I’m done,” I say simply. “We’re done.”
I walk to my car without looking back.
I don’t cry on the drive home. I don’t cry when I walk into our empty house and see Dererick’s things everywhere. His jacket on the hook, his shoes by the door, his coffee mug in the sink from this morning.
I don’t cry when I go upstairs to our bedroom and look at the bed we’ve shared for 15 years.
I cry when I walk past Madison’s room and see her stuffed animals lined up on her bed.
When I think about how I’m going to explain to her that daddy isn’t coming home, that our family is broken, that everything she thought was real was actually built on lies.
I cry for her, for the childhood she’s about to lose, for the trust that’s going to be shattered.
But then I stop crying because Madison deserves a mother who’s strong, who doesn’t fall apart, who shows her that you can survive betrayal and come out the other side.
I call a locksmith who does emergency work. He’s there within an hour changing all the locks.
Then I call Jennifer, my best friend since high school. She answers on the second ring, her voice sleepy.
“Amber, it’s midnight. What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” I say.
“Can you come over?”
“I’m already getting my keys.”
She shows up 20 minutes later with a bottle of wine and a box of cookies. We sit on my kitchen floor and I tell her everything. The affair, the confrontation, the plan with Nathan, all of it.
“Holy—” she says when I’m done. “That’s That’s incredible.”
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