Chapter 4Peel Your Own Damn Shrimp

For the next three days, I acted completely normal.

During the day, I went to the office, approved the invoices, and monitored the supply lines. At night, I went home and cooked dinner.

But in the shadows, I was digging.

I used Brad’s credentials to log into the administrative backend of the company’s Slack network. I had super-admin privileges. He didn't know that.

I read his direct messages. Line by line. Scrolling all the way down to the very beginning.

Eight years ago.

Madison: Hi Mr. Harrison! I’m the new intern, Madison. Looking forward to learning from you!

Brad: Welcome to the team. If there’s anything you don’t understand, my door is always open.

That was the year Madison was a senior in college.

That was the year Brad and I had been married for exactly six months.

Six months.

I scrolled forward. Her third month as an intern.

Brad: Dinner tonight? A new sushi place just opened up near the office.

Madison: I'd love to, Boss! But I don't know how to shell the seafood lol.

Brad: I’ll peel them for you.

I’ll peel them for you.

Five words. He had never once said them to me.

I kept scrolling. Month five.

Brad: Your internship is up soon. Don't you want to stay?

Madison: I really do! But there’s no headcount for a full-time role.

Brad: Let me talk to HR.

The very next day, Madison was brought on full-time.

I pulled up the old approval logs from that year. I had signed off on her full-time offer. My signature was right there in black and blue. I had even written a note in the margins: Stellar performance during internship. Approved.

A dry, hollow laugh clawed its way out of my throat.

Eight years ago, I had personally signed the paperwork to hire her.

Eight years ago, she was eating sushi with my husband.

Six months.

Which meant—when I was standing at the altar in my white dress, exchanging vows with Brad, he was already peeling her shrimp. While I was unpacking our wedding gifts, he was taking another woman out for Japanese food.

Eight years.

This wasn't a recent mid-life crisis. This wasn't a "momentary lapse in judgment."

It was from the very beginning. From day one until year eight.

Over one thousand, four hundred pieces of shrimp.

And I hadn't tasted a single one.