Chapter 2His Intern

James refused. His excuse was that he hadn’t committed any “fundamental breach” of our marriage vows.

He then mobilized our entire network of family and friends to talk me out of it.

My in-laws, whom I had cared for for two decades, told me these young girls were shameless. They promised to set things right, to have James transfer five percent of his company shares to my name as compensation.

Our mutual friends warned me that leaving would be playing right into the other woman’s hands. James’s business was booming; only a fool would walk away from that kind of wealth.

My best friend was going through her own divorce. Her husband had also cheated, but he was broke and ugly. She sighed and suggested I just let it go. “At least James is rich,” she said.

It seemed money was the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card, capable of pardoning any sin within a marriage.

I said nothing and continued gathering the documents I needed.

My father heard the news and stormed over. The moment he walked in, he slapped me across the face, his voice booming. He called me ungrateful, reminding me that I was forty years old. Who would want me now?

He looked healthy, flushed with life. Clearly, his new wife was taking good care of him, and my new little half-brother was a delight. He had no time for my petty grievances.

The last person to try and change my mind was my daughter.

When Jenna came home from college, my first instinct was to hug her.

She shoved me away. “Why are you so determined to divorce Dad?”

I, who had stood my ground against everyone else, felt myself shrink. “Your father is with another woman, honey. I can’t live like this anymore.”

“You mean Heather? Dad told you, she’s just an intern from his office!” Jenna looked at me with an impatience that was a perfect echo of her father’s. “Mom, you’ve lived a life of luxury. Do you really think you can handle being on your own? Don’t come crying to me when you can’t.”

Honestly, until that moment, I had believed that she, the child I had raised with my own hands, would be the one to give me a hug. I imagined her screaming at her father, demanding to know why he had hurt me, standing firmly by my side.

Instead, she unleashed a torrent of anger at me, then stormed upstairs.

SLAM! The sound of her door shutting rattled the house, and my soul along with it.

Claire, how did you let your life come to this?

That evening, for the first time in what felt like a year, James joined me in the shower.

He entered the steamy bathroom, his eyes cold and distant. But his hands moved with a familiar confidence, tracing paths across my body.

“Don’t be angry anymore, okay?” he murmured. “I’ll get rid of her tomorrow. She’ll be out of the company. You’ll never have to see her again.”

A warmth spread across my skin, but a chilling frost was forming around my heart.

I closed my eyes, letting the hot water mix with the silent tears rolling down my cheeks.

“James.”

“Hmm?”

“Did you sleep with her?”

“...”

The silence was all the answer I needed. A wave of fury surged through me.

“You… you make me sick.”

That girl, Heather, was the same age as our daughter. If he’d chosen someone in their late twenties, or thirties, I could have chalked it up to a simple mid-life crisis. But he chose a girl young enough to be his child. A girl just starting out in the world. How could he?

My words enraged him. He shoved me, hard.