Chapter 2Wife Against The Other Woman

"David is a legend," one of the men was saying. "Top of the leaderboard every quarter. With his base and those commissions, the guy is bringing in half a million a year, easy."

The room tilted. The "salary" he had been reporting to me—the one I had been carefully saving—was just his base pay. The commissions, the real money, had been funding this life. This house. This woman.

Jessica beamed, adjusting the baby’s lace blanket. "We’re very blessed."

"Time flies," another woman sighed. "I remember your wedding six years ago like it was yesterday. And now, a baby!"

They’d had a wedding. A real, public wedding with colleagues and champagne.

When I married David, we’d had a small, private ceremony in his parents' backyard. He told me he wanted something "intimate," something that was just for us. He hadn't invited a single coworker.

I stood there, a ghost at the feast, listening to the secrets of the man I thought I knew.

A younger woman leaned in, touching Jessica’s arm. "Seriously, Jess, give us the secret. How do you keep him so devoted? He’s obsessed with you."

I found myself leaning in too, my eyes fixed on Jessica. She looked radiant, untouched by the wearying grind of real life, the bills, the chores, the sleepless nights I’d endured alone with our son while David was "traveling."

"He’s just a good man," Jessica said, her voice soft with genuine affection. "I’m lucky. But if you want my advice? Communication is key. And keep the finances transparent. David gives me his entire paycheck. He keeps a few hundred for gas and coffee, and that’s it."

She touched a heavy gold cuff on her wrist. "Every year, his bonus goes straight into gold for me. He says a man’s heart is where his money is."

The jagged edges of my broken heart shifted, cutting deeper.

His bonuses went to her. Then what had he been giving me?

The emotion was a tidal wave, rising in my throat. I stood there like an ice sculpture, frozen and out of place, while the world around me celebrated my destruction.

Jessica’s phone buzzed. She checked the screen and giggled. "It’s David."

She turned to me, casually shifting the infant. "Could you hold her for a second? I need to take this."

I went numb. Before I could process it, the warm, soft weight of the baby was in my arms.

She was quiet, her dark eyes wide and curious, looking up at me without a care in the world. I looked down at her, a beautiful, innocent manifestation of my husband’s betrayal.

I should have felt rage. I should have wanted to pull away. But I just felt a cold, devastating clarity.

Jessica was right next to me, her voice a sugary coo as she answered. David’s voice came through the speaker, crisp and clear:

"Hey, honey. You’re not overdoing it, are you? You’re still recovering."

"I’m fine, David. Don't worry about me."

"I’ve got my parents in the car. Traffic is a nightmare, so don't stress if we’re a few minutes late. I love you."

"I love you too. Drive safe."

She hung up, and the women around her sighed in unison.

"He is literally too much," one said. "He texts her every hour at the office. Even after six years, it’s like they’re in the honeymoon phase."

"He’s terrified of losing her," another added. "If there’s one man in this city who would never, ever stray, it’s David Lawrence."

I used to think that about him. Every night, a five-minute check-in call. Every morning, a "thinking of you" text. Short, efficient, but constant. I’d never doubted him. Between my career, our son, and managing the household and his parents, my life was a blur of responsibility. I thought he was busy. I thought he was working for us.

I didn't realize he was sharing the minute details of his life with someone else.