Richard stood behind her, leaning in slightly, his smile bright as ever.
“In a foreign land, I’m just glad to have you by my side,” he said softly.
I closed the social media app and booked the earliest flight home.
While boarding the plane, I received a message from an unfamiliar number, it was a video.
In it, a man and a woman were tangled in bed, kissing passionately.
Their faces were a bit blurred, but I recognized the man instantly.
I pressed my lips together and turned off the phone.
When the plane landed, I switched it back on and was met with dozens of missed calls and messages, all from Richard.
I was about to power it down again when his call came through.
“Amanda!” His voice came through sharp, laced with anger. “Where are you? Why did you suddenly fly back to New York?”
“Suddenly?” I replied calmly. “I thought I made myself very clear.”
“All because I went to take care of Lauren last night, you just left me behind like that?”
His voice rose, sharp and accusatory.
“Do you have any idea how worried I was, being alone at the hotel?”
I let out a cold laugh.
“Really? You looked like you were enjoying yourself just fine with Lauren. You two even had time to post about it online. Were you really that worried about me?”
There was a beat of silence, then his voice came again, this time quieter, almost guilty.
“She… posted on Instastory?”
“The photos were well-composed,” I said flatly. “Nice angles. Good lighting. Very romantic.”
“Amanda, must you always be this sarcastic?”
“She hurt herself last night. I just went to help her clean the wound. As her boss and her friend, I couldn’t just ignore it.”
My patience snapped.
“Richard, stop treating me like I’m stupid.”
“You’re being completely unreasonable!” he snapped. “Lauren and I are innocent. You’re just being petty, always assuming the worst!”
“Innocent or not, you know the truth.” My voice was like ice. “Wait for the divorce papers.”
“Amanda!”
Now his voice cracked, laced with panic.
“Are you seriously ending our marriage over something so nonsense?”
“It’s nonsense to you,” I said evenly.
“But to me, this is a woman’s bottom line.”
I could hear his breathing grow heavier, like he was about to say something else.
But I didn’t give him the chance, I hung up.
The next day, Richard started posting all over social media, clearly trying to provoke me.
Photos of him and Lauren dining at trendy restaurants.
Close-ups of luxury gifts.
Captions dripping with ambiguity:
[Thanks to someone for the surprise. No matter how exhausting work is, it’s all worth it.]
I scrolled past without flinching, then sent him the finalized divorce agreement, complete with the property division terms.
Not long after, he called again.
“Amanda, what the hell is this?”
“You really think I can’t live without you?”
“You’ll regret this!”
I didn’t bother replying.
I ended the call and blocked his number.
Seven days later, during a thunderous downpour, I was at my best friend’s place for a small get-together when an unknown number called again, this time via video.
I answered and froze.
Lauren was wearing my silk nightgown, lounging with a glass of red wine, gazing up at the massive wedding photo of me and Richard hanging on the wall.
A mocking smile played on her lips.
On the bed behind her were the underwear I had bought for Richard. The sheets were in complete disarray.
Rage surged through me.
We weren’t even officially divorced yet and she’d already moved into my home, playing the part of lady of the house?
Unforgivable.
Half an hour later, drenched from head to toe, I pushed open the front door.
Inside, the lights were low.
Flickering candlelight danced across the walls, casting shadows of two figures.
Lauren was still holding her wine glass, clinking it against Richard’s.
When she saw me, she stood up, feigning surprise.
