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It feels like I’m not breathing while I watch her take her phone out of her bag and press a few buttons.
A smug smile plays on her lips while she holds out her phone. “This was taken on Friday night. He spent the night at my house.”
Friday. The night he didn’t come home. There is no mistaking that it is Lucas, intertwined with her while he’s fast asleep on a couch that’s not ours, in a house that’s not ours. He’s dressed, but she’s fully naked. It’s proof, but it’s not enough.
“That’s all you’ve got?” I don’t even recognize my voice at the moment.
“You want more proof?” Her laugh is incredulous. “I pity you, you know, trying to hold on to something that you’ve already lost.”
“You come into my house, trying to end my marriage by telling me you’re in a relationship with my husband. You can be fucking assured I want more proof.”
“Fine,” she huffs. That fucking finger I want to break taps at her phone again before she holds it out to me. I grab the phone so I can better see the text thread. It’s his number and what I’m reading has nausea clawing at my insides. I swallow, trying to hold it down.
Boo: I’ll be there at seven-thirty
Monica: Hurry, I miss you. I cooked dinner and got your favorite whiskey
Monica: Oh baby you’re in for such a treat when you see what I’m wearing. I hope we at least make it to my room this time before you fuck me. I still get so wet when I think of the last time
Boo: Good.
Good? Good because she gets wet, or good because of what she’s wearing?
That’s all I can stomach, so with trembling fingers I forward the texts to my number. While I’m at it, I find the photo and forward that as well. I look for more, but it’s the only one I can see.
“What are you doing?” She snatches her phone back from me. “Why the hell would you do that? Those are private.”
“Yet you had no problem showing it to me. You can sugarcoat it as much as you like, but you came here with the intention of breaking up my marriage. That,” I point to her phone, “is just helping your case.”
“Oh no, honey. Your marriage was dead the first time he fucked me,” she purrs. The hate is sudden and violent. I hate what she’s saying, but I hate it more that she’s right.
“Does Lucas know you’re here?” I hate him. For the first time in my life, I truly hate him.
“When you truly love someone, you’ll do anything to spare them pain, to shoulder their burdens for them. He’s been wanting to tell you, but he’s afraid of hurting Lizzy.”
I want to slap her for even mentioning my daughter’s name, and at the same time, I want to curl into a ball, knowing that sometime, somehow, my Lucas stopped loving me enough to not care if he hurts me, that he started loving this woman more than me.
“Mommy, I’m done.” Lizzy comes barreling around the corner and stops when she sees Monica. “Oh, hello,” she says, smiling shyly.
Panic fills me with a violent rush, the pain I’m feeling morphing into a need to protect my daughter.
“You must be Elizabeth,” Monica coos, her fake smile plastered all over her face.
“Lizzy, go back to your room,” I snap before she can answer. “Now,” I add, my tone harsh when she opens her mouth to argue. I don’t want her talking to her. I don’t want her anywhere near this woman.
Lizzy’s shoulders deflate, and with a mumbled yes, mommy, she shuffles off, throwing a last look over her shoulder.
“Was that really necessary? You know I’m going to be in her life soon enough.”
“Get out,” I whisper. She’s gone too far, and I’m about five seconds away from completely losing it. I want to claw her eyes out. I want to make her hurt the way she’s hurting me right now. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
She screeches when I grab her hair, dragging her to the door, her hands coming up to try to break my hold.
“Stop,” she screeches again, her nails scrabbling at my hand, but I don’t feel it, my mind consumed with images of Lizzy and them huddled around a new baby playing happy family while I’m left alone in this house by myself. She’s unable to stop me, half falling, half stumbling over those ridiculous high heels she’s wearing, so it doesn’t take much to get her out the door and slam it behind her. I fall back against the door, my chest heaving with the effort to breathe. The tear running down my cheek feels like a betrayal, and I furiously dash it away. My hand freezes, and I stare absently at the few drops of blood dotting the scratches from her nails. It’s nothing, just a few drops compared to the blood gushing from my heart. Finally, I hear a door slam and a car pull away, so I push myself up and, on autopilot, walk upstairs, grab my phone, and head to my office, where I print out the photo and text messages. I don’t allow myself to feel as I hurry through the packing and usher Lizzy to the car, but I can’t help the tiny sob that wrenches out of me when I take off my wedding ring that hasn’t left my finger for nine years and put it on top of the printouts I made. He can’t miss it. It’s on the side table in the entrance hall, right next to the bowl he tosses his keys in when he gets home. Jumping in the car, I switch off my phone before glancing at Lizzy. She’s been quiet since I sent her to her room, and I don’t know how, but I muster a smile and some enthusiasm for her.
“You ready for this adventure, baby?”
“Who was that lady, Mommy?” It burns me that she’s calling her a lady when all she is, is a home-wrecking slut, but I can’t say that to a five-year-old.
