Gentle revenge
I’m a patient woman, incredibly patient. My
husband, Mark, has been living with his
mistress, Tiffany, for two years, and I haven’t
made a single fuss. No calls, no drama, just
quietly taking care of our kids and his parents
at home. I gave my all to this marriage, and
when it’s time to take back what’s mine, I
won’t leave a single drop behind. Yesterday,
my source informed me that Mark and Tiffany
had a blowout their eighth fight, I think. The
time is ripe.
1
Game on. Today, I initiate phase one.
Standing on the roof of our thirty–story
building, letting the wind ruffle my numb
<
emotions, I call Mark’s office. As usual,
Tiffany, his lover and assistant, answers.
“Mark’s in a meeting,” she chirps, same old
song and dance.
My voice hardens. “Put him on the phone
right now, or I jump. See how well that plays
out for you.”
Tiffany:
…Success.
Mark’s face appears on the video call. I immediately turn on the waterworks. “Honey,”
I sob, “I just wanted to ask… after two years, do you even remember the way home?”
His eyes flicker. He knows I don’t want a
divorce, and he’s been using that against me,
<
refusing to come home. For two whole years.
But my son, daughter, and his parents have
all been thriving under my care.
Today, I had to threaten to jump just to see
his face. The jerk probably thinks it’s a
testament to his irresistible charm.
“Just to talk? You could’ve called. Why the
rooftop theatrics?”
I don’t mention that Tiffany intercepts his
calls. He probably knows. Whatever.
“The kids miss you. They’re starting to think you’re dead.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, his voice deep and smooth. But it does nothing for me
anymore.
<
“I’ll be home tonight.”
I wipe my tears, swallow the bone–deep ache in my chest, and step back from the edge. It’s
pretty windy up here, even on a hot day like
this.
I head over to my parents‘ place, as usual.
Mom rushes to hug me, tears welling up. She
knows me better than anyone. She’s seen the
toll these two years have taken.
I wipe her tears and force a smile. “Mom,
don’t cry. I’m fine. I have everything I need.
I’m just putting on a show for him. To make
him sick.” Maybe it’s making me sick, but I’m
moving forward. This is just the beginning. I
had no intention of jumping. I don’t want to
die.
<
I also know he won’t be home tonight. Tiffany
will make sure of that. When he actually
comes back depends entirely on how much
sway she has over him. Judging by the
intensity of their fight, I don’t think it’ll be
long.
Mom and I go grocery shopping. I fill the cart with the most expensive items, charging it all to his card. For two years, I’ve been pinching pennies, afraid to spend too much in case he uses it as an excuse to divorce me. I’ve been trying to become invisible, to minimize my
presence.
Today, I’m spending freely. Like money grows
on trees.
His text comes through immediately. “Did you get groceries?”
く
I scroll through our chat history. It’s not
funny, it’s… pathetic. The messages are
eerily consistent.
Him: “Want a divorce?”
Me: “No.”
Him: “Why not?”
Me: “The kids.”
One question a day. Over 760 questions. He
didn’t even skip Christmas.
I know it’s Tiffany sending those texts. He
spoils her. She has free reign over his phone.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m envious. Any woman would be envious of being pampered like that.
<
Today’s text is different. This one’s from him.
I reply, “Yep. Celebrating your homecoming.”
My heart is a still pond. Letting go of
someone is easy, surprisingly easy. You just
exhale and life goes on.
“Oh, and buy me a bag to calm my nerves. I
deserve something for nearly killing myself. I
want that limited edition Hermès. If you don’t,
I’m showing up at your office.”
He’s not afraid of me dying. He’s afraid of
me making a scene at his company.
