Now there was nothing left to bargain with.
The woman smiled up at him. “You are insane for doing that over the speaker.”
He grinned. “You liked it.”
“I did.”
I walked up behind my husband and tapped his shoulder.
And when he turned, I smiled with a calm I did not feel anywhere in my body.
“Happy anniversary,” I said.
Daniel’s face emptied in an instant.
He looked like every thought had fled at once.
“Mercy? What are you doing here?”
“I came to surprise you on our anniversary. Looks like I am the one who has been surprised,” I said calmly.
The other woman looked between us.
Her expression shifted from amusement to confusion to understanding.
“Oh,” she said. Then, with astonishing casualness, “So this is the wife you’re about to divorce. Have you given her the papers yet?”
I think Daniel said my name again. I am not sure.
That sentence had hit me like a bomb, demolishing our marriage in one sweep.
She not only knew I existed, but they were already talking about our divorce.
I felt like a fool. I was excited for an anniversary celebration while Daniel was bracing himself to hand me divorce papers.
He had papers. Not just an affair or a pregnancy. A plan.
A whole future already drafted out while he kissed me goodbye in the mornings and asked what restaurant I wanted for tomorrow’s make-up anniversary.
I looked at him and saw a stranger wearing my husband’s face.
Emily — because that was the name he finally choked out in the next breath, “Emily, stop”—crossed her arms over her stomach and frowned at him.
“What? You said you were handling it after the anniversary so you wouldn’t look like the bad guy divorcing her before you celebrated.”
That was the worst thing anyone said all night. It’s like she was determined to see me shattered.
This woman, whom I knew nothing about, was enjoying this scenario.
Meanwhile, my husband was silent.
He had been waiting for our anniversary to pass before telling me he wanted a divorce.
He had let me believe we would be celebrating tomorrow.
Was that when he would hand me the divorce papers?
He let me believe I still belonged in his life until the calendar was more convenient for him.
I laughed then. I couldn’t help it. One short, broken sound.
