After that day, Blake never came home.
I knew he was waiting for me to break down and beg him to return.
But the compliant Scarlett who used to bend to his will was the one who had been in love with him. That woman was dead.
Now, I couldn't care less where he was.
I devoted myself entirely to Cody's treatment, praying Blake would never show his face again. Perhaps it was my brush with death, or perhaps it was my newfound indifference to him, but the depression that had plagued me for years simply vanished.
Men, I thought with a sneer. Good for nothing but ruining a perfectly good mood.
Even though Blake wasn't home, it wasn't hard to guess where he was. Jessica's Instagram was a running diary of their "happy" family vacation in the Hamptons with her son, Kyle.
The posts painted a picture of domestic bliss.
Anyone who saw them would comment on how blissful their "family of three" looked. Mutual friends, clearly out of the loop, asked if they had gotten back together. A few even speculated if Kyle was Blake’s biological son.
In response, Blake would leave carefully worded clarifications. 'Kyle is very young and has effectively lost his father. I'm just trying to give him the complete childhood he deserves. Please don't read too much into it.'
His words were so noble, as if he were some kind of saint.
I would occasionally like his posts, but I never left a single comment. Not a word, not an emoji.
Nothing.
Meanwhile, his name always appeared in my 'recent visitors' list across all social media. He was watching me. I ignored it.
The next day, Jessica's feed would inevitably feature more saccharine accounts of Blake's doting father routine.
While I put Cody to sleep, he put Kyle to sleep. While I attended Cody's parent-teacher conference, he attended Kyle's. While I sat with Cody through therapy, he was fussing over Kyle's scraped finger like it was a mortal wound.
A nosy neighbor cornered me in the hallway. "Haven't seen the kid's dad around. Where's he been?"
I smiled faintly, my voice flat. "He's dead."
The neighbor just sighed and walked away.
After a few days of silence, Jessica messaged me again.
Jessica: 'Aren't you curious where Blake is? He's amazing with Kyle. The boy is just thriving under his care.'
Such a cheap shot. I typed back a reply.
Scarlett: 'Don't care. I'd be happier if he dropped dead.'
She had no idea how much I was enjoying the peace and quiet without his disgusting face around.
The "typing..." bubble appeared and disappeared for a long time. Finally, a message popped up.
Jessica: 'Oh, playing tough now, are we? I seem to remember someone crying and begging Blake to come home. When I have him completely wrapped around my finger, you'd better sign those divorce papers, okay?'
I couldn't be bothered to type. I just sent her the screenshot of the joint account again. It was a surefire way to shut her up.
Jessica was infuriated.
A short while later, she sent a photo of the property deed to her new downtown apartment.
I didn't respond.
A few days later, a picture of an oil painting I’d made for Blake—a scene of our proposal in Venice. It used to hang in our bedroom. Now, it was in her new home.
Finally, a new, exclusive-tier credit card.
Jessica: 'This card has a much higher limit than yours!'
Everything she sent was something Blake had posted about on his private social media, visible only to me.
If this were the old me, I would have been sobbing my heart out.
But that me was gone.
Scarlett: 'Thank you.'
Jessica was baffled.
Jessica: 'Are you crazy? What are you thanking me for?'
For hand-delivering a mountain of evidence, of course, I thought.
I was starting to enjoy this game.
Seeing my mounting stress, Julian asked if I needed a lawyer, mentioning he had a friend who was one of the best divorce attorneys in the city.
I thanked him, transferred the consultation fee, and gladly accepted the referral.
Then, with a mountain of evidence in hand, I filed a lawsuit against Jessica to reclaim the marital assets she’d received.
