I just placed it in his hand and folded his fingers over it.
"Don't bother coming home," I said. "Send the divorce papers. Text me the address where you want your things shipped."
His eyes filled. "Mercy — "
"I mean it."
Then I looked at Emily.
For the first time, really looked.
She was beautiful, pregnant, and stupid enough to think she was special because a liar had chosen her next.
I felt no urge to fight with her. If she wants to believe she has won, that was up to her.
Some lessons arrive gift-wrapped in another woman's loss, and people still do not recognize them until much later.
So I just said, "Congratulations. You can have him without having to hide anymore."
Then I turned and walked away before either of them could answer.
I booked the next flight home from an airport bar with shaking hands and mascara running down my face.
The bartender said the drinks were on him. God bless people like that.
On the plane home, I sat by the window and watched the lights of the city fall away beneath me.
My reflection in the glass looked ghostly and strange. I kept waiting to feel rage, or hysteria, or the urge to call him and scream until my throat bled.
Instead, I felt hollow.
Like something had been carved out, and the air was rushing through where it used to live.
I got home after midnight.
The house still smelled faintly of Daniel's cologne from that morning.
That did it.
I stood in the kitchen in my red dress and cried so hard I had to hold the counter to stay upright.
The next morning, I woke with swollen eyes, a pounding head, and a choice.
I could turn myself into a shrine of pain and let what Daniel had done define the shape of the rest of my life.
Or I could begin.
Not heal. That word was far too ambitious for the morning after betrayal.
I just wanted to start over.
