Two weeks passed in a fog of missed calls and ignored text messages. Then came Sarah’s email—she’d sue me if I didn’t voluntarily give up half of everything. The word “voluntarily” had never looked so much like a curse.
I couldn’t bear to reply. Couldn’t bear to think about James’s betrayal; about how many people must have known, must have seen them together while I remained oblivious. The whispers at work became unbearable—pitying looks from some colleagues, barely concealed smirks from others. Tom, my boss and one of the few true friends I had left, called me into his office after I broke down in the middle of a client meeting.
“Take some time off,” he said gently. “Paid or unpaid—whatever works for you. Your job will be here when you’re ready to come back.”
I nodded gratefully and packed up my desk that same day.
The next few weeks blurred together as I became a hermit in my own home. I had groceries delivered, ignored the doorbell when it rang, and spent hours staring at old photos, trying to spot the signs I must have missed. Every happy memory now felt like a mockery; every moment of our marriage tainted by the knowledge that he had been living a double life with my own sister.