Ten Times He Cheated, Now I Belong To The Man He Hated

Curtis had cheated again—this made the tenth time—and I finally told him I wanted a divorce.

He just shrugged with that smug grin. "Is this really necessary? It was only a little fling. It won't happen again."

"There won't be another chance."

"Fine." He signed the papers with an impatient scowl. "Just don't back out when the waiting period is up and you have to show up in court."

We'd been childhood sweethearts—neighbors first, then lovers for a decade, married for seven. Curtis was convinced I'd change my mind. But what he never understood was that even the deepest love can eventually run dry.

...

On the last day of the waiting period, I ran into Curtis at the grocery store. A month had passed since I'd seen him, and he hadn't changed a bit.

He stood by a shelf, laughing and talking on the phone. "Bored with vanilla? How about trying something new?" After a few playful exchanges, he tossed a box of every flavor into his cart.

When he turned, our eyes collided. Any other husband would have looked guilty. Curtis just looked annoyed and snapped, "So you waited till the last minute to admit you were wrong? Is this your big change of heart?"

He actually thought filing for divorce was some scheme to win him back. I shook my head. "I'm here to shop for a farewell dinner. Want to join?"

Curtis frowned, trying to tell if I was serious. The air grew heavy—then, out of nowhere, he stepped forward and pulled me into a hug.

Onlookers probably saw a couple having a tender moment. I knew the truth. His whisper was ice.

"Thea, drop the act. You've got no one else. Without me, you're a stray with nowhere to go."

He stroked my hair, patient, like I was a house pet. "I'll throw you a bone. Go buy the roast beef and make my stew, and I'll let the whole mess slide." Then he patted my head and dismissed me. "Run along. I need to stop by the office. I'll be home later."

In that instant, I was yanked back to the first time Curtis cheated. The room reeked. Clothes were strewn everywhere. He'd ignored my breakdown, shielding the girl behind him, helping her get dressed. His voice was so casual while he recycled the same tired excuses.

And every time after was just more of the same.

Over time, I'd turned into a beaten-down dog. Too tired to bark, too tired to bite. Just numb.

But at night, faced with that cold, empty side of the bed and the endless stream of photos with other women, I'd remember that I was still human.

That day, I didn't make his stew, and Curtis didn't come home. Everything I couldn't bring myself to finish ended up in the trash.

Before I went to sleep, I couldn't help but wonder where Curtis was. Probably tangled up with another woman, working his way through flavor after flavor.

Their sordid little rendezvous were far more disgusting than the garbage in the bin.

But thankfully, soon, none of it would matter to me anymore.