My husband’s work wife just became our neighbor. I stood in my kitchen staring at the moving truck backing up into the house next to mine. The house had finally been sold after the previous owner moved to Florida a couple months back. I baked cookies to welcome them to the neighborhood and walked over. The front door was open with boxes everywhere.
I knocked on the frame and called out, “Hello, I’m from next door. I brought some cookies.” I heard footsteps coming from the back of the house, heels clicking on hardwood. And then she appeared, blonde hair, perfectly styled, pencil skirt and silk blouse like she was dressed for the office, not for unpacking boxes. A smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Oh my god, she said. Elena, right? Brad’s wife. It was Megan. The Megan. My husband Brad complained about her all the time, saying she talked too much and always needed his help with projects. He said she wouldn’t leave him alone like a cockroach who never died.
She had even started calling herself his work wife just because they spent so much time together at work. Surprise, she said, and something about the way she said it made my skin crawl. Looks like we’re neighbors now. Megan said surprise like she’d been waiting to say it, like she’d rehearsed it. I kept replaying it in my head while I made dinner that night. The way she was dressed.
The way she smiled like she’d already won something I didn’t know we were competing for. Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe it really was just a coincidence. Coincidence? I think not. Because coincidences don’t usually make your hands shake when you think about them. Before we get into that, let me tell you how we got here.
Brad and I had been married for 10 years. We met in college and got married 2 years after graduation. We have two kids now. Susie was eight and Harry was six. We’d worked hard to get to where we were. Saved every penny, made sacrifices. And last year, we finally bought our dream home in the neighborhood we’d always wanted.
Good schools, safe streets, friendly neighbors. Or so I thought. I’d heard about Megan for years. Brad worked in finance and she was in accounting. According to him, she was the most annoying person in the entire company. She talked constantly, laughed too loud at meetings, and showed up at his desk multiple times a day asking questions she could easily Google.
“She’s exhausting,” he’d say when he came home from work. “I don’t know how anyone deals with her. I felt bad for him, honestly. He’d come home stressed out with a new thing Megan did that bothered him.” And then she started calling herself his work wife. Brad told me about it in disgust.
Said she’d introduced herself to a new employee as Brad’s work, and he wanted to disappear into the floor. and she only continued saying it in meetings, in emails, to clients. She’d refer to herself as his office better half and laugh. That’s so inappropriate, I said when he told me. That’s Megan, he replied. No boundaries, no self-awareness. She actually thinks it’s cute. Why don’t you just talk to HR? I asked.
And say what? She’s annoying. She asks for help with work. She calls herself my work wife. They’d laugh me out of the building. So, he dealt with it. and I trusted him without question because who complains that much about someone they’re actually interested in.
Brad came home from work a few hours after I met Megan and he stopped dead cold in his tracks when I told him she bought the house next door. His face did something I couldn’t read. That’s weird. She never mentioned she was house hunting. This is going to be a problem. I sighed. Why? She’s just a neighbor now. It’s probably a coincidence. Nice neighborhood. Good schools. Makes sense.
He said it so casually, so dismissively, like I was being ridiculous. But that didn’t make sense. Brad should have been annoyed. That’s the thing I couldn’t stop thinking about. For 4 years, he complained about this woman non-stop. She was exhausting. She was clingy. She wouldn’t leave him alone. And now she’s living 10 ft from our bedroom, and he shrugged it off like I told him we were out of milk.
Something was wrong with that math. Something didn’t add up. And I was going to pay very close attention until I figured out what. It didn’t take long for Megan to start making herself at home. Not in her house, in mine. The first time she knocked on our door was a Sunday afternoon. Brad was in the backyard grilling burgers and I was setting the table when the doorbell rang.
Megan stood there holding a bottle of wine and smiling. I smelled the barbecue and thought I’d bring something to contribute. Hope that’s okay. I tried to be welcoming. I really did. Maybe Brad and I had judged her too harshly and she really was just lonely and looking for friends. So, I handed her a plate and poured her a drink and made space for her at our table.
But then he sat down next to Brad, not across from him where there was an empty chair next to him. So close their elbows touched when they reached for the salt. “You don’t mind, do you, Elena?” she asked after she’d already sat down. “Brad and I sit next to each other at every work lunch.” “Force of habit,” I minded.
But I smiled and said it was fine because what else could I say? Don’t sit next to my husband at my own dinner table. I’d sound insane. Halfway through the meal, Susie spilled her juice. And before I could grab a napkin, Megan was already up. I’ve got it, sweetie, she said, wiping down my daughter’s shirt with the towel I kept by the sink. The towel she somehow knew was there even though she’d never been in my kitchen before. There.
Good as new. You know your daddy spills things at work all the time, too. I’m always cleaning up after him. You clean up after daddy? Susie asked. Someone has to. Megan laughed. He’s helpless without his work wife. Right, Brad? Brad chuckled and shook his head, but he didn’t correct her. Didn’t say, “Actually, you’re not my work wife. Just let it sit there like it was true.
” After dinner, I started clearing plates and Megan jumped up to help. “You wash, I’ll dry,” she said, positioning herself at my sink like she belonged there. “Brad, honey, can you keep the kids busy for a minute?” “Girl talk.” “Brad, honey.” She called my husband, “Honey, in my house, and he just nodded and took the kids outside like it was normal.
” So, Megan said once we were alone, “How long have you and Brad been together?” “12 years, 10 married.” “Wow, that’s a long time. Things must get pretty routine by now, huh? We’re happy.” “Oh, I’m sure you are. I just mean it must be hard keeping things exciting after so long. Brad told me you guys have been in a bit of a rut lately.
I stopped washing. He said that. Don’t worry. He didn’t go into detail. He just mentioned things have been a little stale intimately. She said that last word quietly like we were sharing a secret. I told him that’s totally normal. Every marriage goes through dry spells because she knew so much about marriage.
My husband had talked to this woman about our intimate life, about our dry spells. I felt something cold settle in my chest, but I kept my voice steady. Brad and I are fine. Of course you are, she said, patting my arm with a wet hand. I’m just saying if you ever need advice. I’ve been told I’m very good at keeping men interested. She smiled at me and for a second the mask slipped.
I saw something underneath, something hungry. Then Brad came back inside with the kids, and she was all warmth again, hugging Susie goodbye, high-fiving Harry, telling Brad she’d see him Monday with a look that lasted a beat too long. That night, I asked Brad if he’d told Megan about our relationship. He said he didn’t remember.
He said she probably misunderstood something he said about being tired and that I was reading too much into it. There was no way I was. The next few weeks, Megan found reasons to be at our house constantly. She needed Brad’s help with her garbage disposal. She wanted to borrow our ladder. She brought over cookies she’d baked and just happened to arrive right when Brad got home from work.
Every time I answered the door, she looked past me like she was searching for him. Is Brad here? Became her greeting. Not hi, Elena. Not how are you? Just is Brad here. One afternoon, I came home early from errands and found her in my backyard. She was pushing Susie on the swing set while Harry kicked a soccer ball nearby. Brad was at work.
I hadn’t given her permission to be there. Elena, hi, she said like I was the visitor. The kids were playing outside and I thought I’d keep an eye on them. I know your sitter leaves at 3:00 and I saw her car pull away, so I figured I’d step in. You’re welcome. I was only gone 20 minutes. You can never be too careful. There are crazy people everywhere.
She hopped off the swing and smoothed down her dress. Susie was just telling me about her dance recital. I’d love to come watch if that’s okay with you. Susie looked at me with hopeful eyes. Can she, mom? Please. What was I supposed to say? No, this woman who’s been nothing but nice to you can’t come to your recital because mommy has a bad feeling. We’ll see.
I said, and Megan smiled like she’d already won. She came to the recital. She brought flowers bigger than the bouquet Brad and I brought. She sat in the front row and cheered the loudest. And afterwards, Susie ran to her first. I watched my daughter wrap her arms around this woman’s neck while I stood 3 ft away holding my smaller flowers like an afterthought. She’s so talented, Megan said to Brad loud enough for everyone around us to hear. You must be so proud.
We are, I said. Megan didn’t look at me. Brad, remember when I did ballet? I showed you those pictures from when I was her age. Susie has the same natural grace. You did ballet? Susie asked. When I was little. I could teach you some moves if you want. things they don’t show you in regular classes.
Mom, can she? I looked at Brad, waiting for him to say something to back me up. To recognize that this woman was inserting herself into every corner of our lives like water damage spreading through walls. He shrugged. Could be fun. The lessons happened at Megan’s house twice a week.
Sometimes Brad would walk Susie over and stay to watch, and I’d sit at home looking at the clock wondering why a 30-inute lesson took 2 hours. Megan says, “I’m a natural.” Susie told me one night. She says I’m so good I could be her daughter. Be her daughter. This woman was crazy. I told Brad we needed to talk. I sat him down after the kids went to bed and laid out everything. The comments about our relationship.
The way she showed up uninvited. The lessons, the flowers, the way she looked at him like I wasn’t standing right there. He listened. He nodded. Then he said, “I think you’re being paranoid.” I’m not paranoid. I’m paying attention. Megan is just friendly. She doesn’t have family here. She doesn’t have kids.
She’s attached herself to ours because she’s lonely. It’s sad if you think about it, Brad. She told me we were in a rut. She said you talked to her about our intimate life. I never said that. Then why would she? I don’t know. Maybe she was fishing. Maybe she wanted to see how you’d react. And that doesn’t concern you. He sighed. What do you want me to do, Elena? She’s our neighbor.
She’s my coworker. I can’t just tell her to go away. You can set boundaries. I have boundaries. Really? because from where I’m standing it looks like she has a key to our life and you’re the one who gave it to her. He got quiet. I could see him calculating deciding how much truth to give me. You used to hate her. I reminded him four years, Brad.
Four years of coming home and telling me how exhausting she was, how she wouldn’t leave you alone, how she was like a cockroach that never died. And now suddenly she’s your best friend and I’m supposed to just accept that. People change Elena, do they? Or were you lying to me the whole time? He ran his hand through his hair. Fine.
You want the truth? I exaggerated. Okay. I complained about her because that’s what people do about co-workers. I vented because I was stressed and she was an easy target. But she’s not actually that bad. And honestly, I feel guilty about all the things I said. I was being hateful for no reason. And I’m trying to be better.
Trying to be better? I said, not believing him for a minute. Yes, I’m trying to grow as a person. I’m trying to stop being so negative about people who don’t deserve it. And if you can’t handle the fact that I want to be a better man, then maybe you’re the problem here. Not Megan. You. I stood there taking it all in. He’d flipped the whole thing around. Somehow he made me the villain for noticing.
Turned himself the hero for changing. And somewhere in the middle, Megan got to be the innocent victim of my paranoid housewife fantasies. Fine, I said. Fine, Brad. Be better. Grow, whatever. But I’m telling you right now, something is off. And when it blows up, I need you to remember that I tried to warn you.
He kissed my forehead like I was a child who just had a tantrum. Nothing is going to blow up. I promise. I let it go. Or I tried to. I stopped bringing up Megan’s name. I stopped questioning the ballet lessons and the random visits and the way she looked at my husband. I told myself I was being crazy and jealous and maybe Brad was right. Maybe I was the problem. But 2 weeks later, I couldn’t sleep.
I went downstairs for water around midnight and glanced out the kitchen window like I always did. Our backyard was dark. The fence line was shadowed by the oak tree we’d planted when we first moved in, but there was movement. I squinted and stepped closer to the glass. There were two figures standing at the fence.
Brad in his sweatpants and t-shirt, Megan in a silk robe that barely covered her butt. They were talking in low voices. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could see how close they were standing. I could see her hand resting on his forearm. I could see him leaning in like she was magnetic, and he couldn’t help himself. She laughed at something he said and touched his chest. let her fingers linger there for a second too long.
He didn’t step back, didn’t remove her hand, just stood there soaking it in like a man dying of thirst. I watched for 5 minutes, watched her flip her hair, watched him smile in a way he hadn’t smiled at me in months. Watched whatever was between them pulse like a living thing in the dark. Then I went back to bed and pretended to be asleep when he came in 20 minutes later.
The next morning, I waited until the kids left for school. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down across from Brad at the kitchen table. He was scrolling through his phone, eating toast like it was any other Friday. Like he hadn’t been whispering with another woman in our backyard 12 hours ago. He looked up from his coffee.
What? At the fence with Megan. Midnight. Her in a robe. You with your hands all over each other. He set down his phone. It wasn’t like that. Then tell me what it was like. I couldn’t sleep. I went outside to get some air. She happened to be outside, too. We talked for a few minutes. That’s it. I watched you for 5 minutes. I saw everything.
So don’t sit there and tell me it wasn’t like that when I watched it happen with my own eyes. He was quiet for a moment. I could see him running through his options. Deny harder. Gaslight more. Tell me I imagined it. Tell me I was dreaming. Tell me I was crazy. She’s a touchy person. He finally said that’s just how she is. It didn’t mean anything. Try again. Elena, no.
I’m done accepting excuses that insult my intelligence. I know what I saw. You know what you did. So, either tell me the truth right now or I’m going to assume the worst and act accordingly. The kitchen was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator. Brad stared at his coffee cup like he was hoping it would swallow him whole. I waited.
I wasn’t going to fill the silence for him. He’d built this hole. He could climb out of it himself. Okay, he said finally. His voice was quieter now. Smaller. I’ll admit I have some complicated feelings about Megan. Complicated feelings? I repeated. Yes. I don’t know how to explain it. She just gets me in a way that’s different. We have this connection at work and it carried over, but nothing happened.
It’s just feelings. I can’t control how I feel. I just didn’t tell you because I knew you’d react like this. Like what? Like a wife who just found out her husband has feelings for another woman? How exactly should I be reacting, Brad? Should I throw a party? Bake her a cake? Should we invite Bella Hadid? Thank her for keeping you entertained while I’m busy raising our children? He flinched. Good. I’m going to handle it, he said.
You better. You want to be a better person. You want to grow and change and stop being negative. Start with this. Get your together, Brad. I mean it. And I’m not saying this for me because clearly my feelings aren’t enough to motivate you. Do it for Susie and Harry. They deserve a father who’s present and committed.
Who doesn’t blow up their lives because he couldn’t figure out the difference between being friendly and being unfaithful. I haven’t been unfaithful yet. You haven’t been unfaithful yet. But you’re standing at the edge of that cliff and instead of stepping back, you’re checking the view. I’m telling you right now, if you go over, I’m not jumping after you.
I will take those kids and I will build a life without you, and I will not feel guilty about it for one second. He stared at me. He knew that if he actually cheated, I was going to take our kids and build a life without him, and I wouldn’t feel guilty about it for one second. So, it was up to him to grow a pair. I picked up my coffee and walked out of the kitchen.
Left him sitting there with his cold toast and his complicated feelings and the weight of everything he was about to lose. Here’s the thing about ultimatums. You give them because you want the other person to fight for you. You want the version of them you fell in love with to show up and prove that person still exists somewhere underneath all the lies. But ultimatums are dangerous because sometimes people do exactly what you asked.
They say the right things. They make the right moves. They become everything you need them to be. And that’s when you have to ask yourself the hardest question. Is this real or is this just a better performance? Brad came home that night with a bouquet of roses. He handed them to me and pulled me into a hug before I could say anything.
We stood there in the kitchen for a long time with his arms around me and his chin resting on top of my head. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’ve been an idiot. I didn’t argue with him. I just let him hold me because fighting takes energy and I’d spent all of mine.” When he finally pulled back, his eyes were wet and he looked like the man I’d married.
Not the stranger who’d been defending Megan for months. “My husband, the one I’d been waiting to come back. I’m going to fix this,” he said. “You and the kids are everything to me. Then show me. I will starting right now.” He took the roses from my hand and found a vase under the sink.
Remember when I used to bring you flowers every Friday when we were first dating? That was a long time ago. Too long. I stopped doing the things that made you fall in love with me and then I acted surprised when you felt neglected. He filled the vase with water and arranged the roses carefully. That ends now. Friday flowers are back. And not just flowers. All of it.
The stuff that matters. The next morning, I woke up to Suz’s laughter coming from downstairs. I found Brad in the kitchen flipping pancakes while Harry tried to sneak chocolate chips into the batter. The table was set. Coffee was made. Brad looked up when he saw me and smiled like nothing in the world was wrong. Daddy’s making heart pancakes. Susie announced.
He said, “The lumpy one is for you because you like imperfect things. That’s why you married him,” Brad shrugged. Her words not mine, but also accurate. “How long have you guys been up?” I asked, pouring myself coffee. “Since 7,” Brad said. “I wanted to let you sleep in. You’ve been carrying everything around here for months, and I’ve been too checked out to notice.
So, today you rest. We’ve got breakfast handled. Right, guys? Right, Harry and Susie said in unison. And after breakfast, we’re going to the park, Brad continued. Then ice cream, then whatever mom wants to do. Today is Elena appreciation day. That’s not a real thing, I said. It is now. I just invented it. I sat down and watched them.
This was what our Saturday mornings used to look like before everything got complicated. before I started dreading weekends because it meant more time to notice things I didn’t want to see. We spent the day at the park. Brad pushed Susie on the swings and let Harry climb on his shoulders, even though he always complained about his back afterward. At one point, he jogged over to where I was sitting on a bench and handed me a dandelion.
“Harry picked it for you, but he was too shy to bring it over himself.” I looked at Harry, who was pretending to be very interested in a squirrel. “Tell him I love it.” “I will.” He laughed, then grabbed my hands. I made reservations at that steakhouse you like. Mom already agreed to watch the kids. You called your mother this morning.
I told her I needed to take my wife on a proper date because I’ve been neglecting her. He sat down next to me. She said it’s about time and that she always knew you were too good for me. Smart woman. She really is. His phone buzzed once during lunch and he silenced it without looking at the screen. When I raised an eyebrow, he said, “Family day.
Everything else can wait.” I wanted to believe it. I wanted to sink into this version of my life and forget the last few months ever happened. But there was still a part of me waiting for the mask to slip, watching for the moment when he’d check his phone or glance toward Megan’s house or find an excuse to step outside alone. That moment didn’t come.
The week that followed felt like someone had turned back time. Brad came home right after work every day. He texted me during lunch just to say he missed me. He helped with homework and did bath time without being asked and fell asleep next to me on the couch instead of disappearing into the garage. Megan’s name didn’t come up once. Not a complaint, not a mention, nothing.
That’s when the guilt started creeping in. I thought about all the dirty looks I’d given Megan. The way I’d shut her out of conversations, the coldness I’d shown her when she was probably just a lonely woman trying to make friends in a new neighborhood. She’d brought wine to our barbecue and I’d acted like she was plotting to steal my family.
I brought it up to Brad one morning while he was getting ready for work. Do you think I should apologize to Megan? He paused with his tie half done. For what? for being such a to her. She probably thinks I’m completely unhinged. You weren’t a You were protecting your family. There’s a difference. I accused her of trying to seduce you because she sat next to you at dinner.
Okay, that was a little much, he admitted. But I didn’t exactly help the situation. I should have set clearer boundaries from the start instead of letting things get weird. He finished his tie and turned to face me. She actually told me she feels bad about everything. She’s been keeping her distance because she doesn’t want to cause more problems. That made it worse.
This woman had been tiptoeing around her own neighborhood because of me because I’d built a villain out of overanalyzing everything and giving into my delusions. The next day, I had off work. Vacation time I needed to use before it expired. Brad left around 8 with a kiss and a promise to bring home Chinese food for dinner.
I spent the morning cleaning and thinking about what I’d say to Megan. Maybe I’d bake something, bring it over as a peace offering. We could start fresh. Around noon, I grabbed my keys and headed to my car. I needed a few things from the store anyway. I backed out of the garage and started down our street. That’s when I saw it. Brad’s car sitting in Megan’s driveway.
Middle of the day, blinds drawn. I pulled over and stared at it. He was supposed to be at work. He’d kissed me goodbye 4 hours ago and told me about meetings he had scheduled until 5:00. But there was his car parked in her driveway like it belonged there. The roses, the pancakes, the family day at the park, the steakhouse restaurant, the dandelion. Harry was too shy to deliver himself.
All of it flashed through my mind, but it looked different now. It looked like a scene from a movie where the audience knows more than the main character. Where everyone is screaming at the screen because they can see what she can’t. I sat in my car with my hands on the steering wheel. He hadn’t changed.
He’d just gotten better at making me believe he had. There’s a moment in every marriage where you realize you’ve been playing by rules that only you follow. You fight fair. You communicate. You give second chances. And the whole time the other person is doing whatever they want because they know you’ll keep trying. They know you’ll keep hoping.
They know you love them more than you love yourself. But that’s the thing about hope. Eventually, it runs out. And when it does, you stop asking for things to change. You start making them. I called him first. I don’t know why. Maybe I wanted to give him one last chance to tell the truth.
Maybe I wanted to hear the lie come out of his mouth so I’d stop feeling guilty about what I was about to do. He picked up on the fourth ring. Hey. His voice was heavy, breathless, like he just climbed a flight of stairs or something else. Where are you? Work. It’s crazy today. Back-to-back meetings until 5. I heard rustling movement. Everything okay? Yeah, just wanted to hear your voice. That’s sweet, babe. He was distracted.
I could tell. Listen, I got to run. Holloway’s waiting on those projections. I’ll see you tonight. Okay. Love you. He hung up before I could respond. I sat in my car for a full minute staring at his name on my phone screen. Backtoback meetings. Haay’s projections. The same lies he’d been telling for months.
Probably the same voice he’d used to promise me Friday flowers were back. the same mouth that had kissed me goodbye this morning before driving straight to her house. His car was in Megan’s driveway. I’d driven past on a hunch, just to check, just to prove myself wrong. But there it was, the black Mustang I’d helped him pick out two years ago, parked behind her white Nissan like it belonged there.
I pulled in behind him, blocked him in. If he was going to run, he’d have to go through me first. The front door was unlocked. I didn’t knock. I walked in like I owned the place, because in a way, I did. Every late night he’d spent working. every weekend conference call that went three hours long.
Every business trip that required him to leave on Friday and come back on Monday. I’d paid for this. I’d earned the right to walk through that door. The living room was dim, curtains drawn, vanilla candles flickering on the coffee table like this was some kind of romantic movie and not the destruction of everything I’d built. I heard them before I saw them.
A low laugh, his voice murmuring something I couldn’t make out. Her responding with a sound that made my jaw clench. They were on the couch. Brad’s shirt was unbuttoned to his stomach. Megan was straddling him, her blouse somewhere on the floor, her hands in his hair. Neither of them heard me come in. They were too busy, too distracted, too certain they’d gotten away with it.
Backto-back meetings, huh? Brad’s head snapped toward me so fast I thought he’d hurt himself. He shoved Megan off his lap and scrambled to his feet, his hands flying to his buttons like covering up. Now would erase what I’d already seen. Elena. He said my name like it was a foreign word, like he’d forgotten I existed.
What are you? How did you? Your car is in her driveway in the middle of a Tuesday while you’re supposedly in backto-back meetings. I leaned against the door frame. Crossed my arms. I’m not a detective, Brad. But even I can solve that mystery. Megan didn’t scramble. She didn’t panic. She stood up slowly, smoothing her hair like she’d just woken up from a nap.
Her lipstick wasn’t even smudged. She reached for her blouse and pulled it on one arm at a time, taking her time, letting me watch. “You could have texted first,” she said. Given us a heads up. Sorry, didn’t realize I needed an appointment to catch my husband cheating. Cheating is such an ugly word. She buttoned her blouse from the bottom up. I prefer connecting.
Brad and I have a connection. We always have. I’m his work wife after all. That phrase again. She loved throwing that in my face, and he loved ignoring it. Brad stepped toward me, his hands raised like he was approaching a wild animal. Elena, listen to me. This isn’t what it looks like. You’re right.
It looks like you were about to sleep with your coworker on her couch. But I’m sure you were just giving her CPR. Mouth to mouth. Very thorough. I’m serious. His voice dropped, softened. The same tone he used when he was trying to talk me out of being upset about something. Megan and I were just talking. Things got I don’t know. Things got out of hand, but nothing happened.
You walked in before anything actually happened. Your shirt’s unbuttoned and her bras on the lampshade, but sure, nothing happened. Megan laughed. A short, sharp sound. She’s smarter than you give her credit for, Brad. I told you she’d figure it out eventually. Shut up. He whipped around to face her. This is your fault. You pushed this.
You moved here. You wouldn’t leave me alone. Oh, please. Megan rolled her eyes. You were texting me before I even signed the lease. You helped me pick out the paint colors. You told me which side of the fence had the better view of your bedroom window. Don’t act like you’re the victim here.
I watched Brad’s face change, the panic changing to something harder, something meaner. He turned back to me with a look I’d never seen before. Or maybe I had and I just refused to recognize it. You know what? Fine. Yes. Megan and I have been spending time together. But have you asked yourself why? He took a step closer.
When’s the last time you looked at me the way she does? When’s the last time you made me feel like I mattered? You’re so busy with the kids, with work, with your little projects. You haven’t touched me in weeks. You barely talk to me anymore. What was I supposed to do? Not sleep with the neighbor seems like a good start. You created this situation. if you’d been paying attention to your marriage. So, this is my fault.
I nodded slowly. I made you lie to me for months. I made you sneak around behind my back. I made you bring her into our children’s lives and let them get attached to the woman you were planning to replace me with. That’s not what I said. That’s exactly what you said. You’re just mad I repeated it back without the spin. Megan moved to stand next to Brad. Close.
Possessive. Her hand brushed his arm like she was claiming territory. Elena, I know this is hard to hear, but sometimes marriages just run their course. It’s not anyone’s fault. People grow apart. Brad and I grew together. These things happen. These things don’t just happen.
They require lying, scheming, moving next door to someone else’s family, and systematically inserting yourself into their life. I smiled at her. That’s not fate, Megan. That’s a plan. Think what you want. She shrugged. It doesn’t change anything. You’re right. It doesn’t. I looked at Brad. I want you out of the house tonight. We’ll figure out the rest through lawyers. Elena, wait. Brad grabbed my wrist. We can work through this.
Couples survive affairs all the time. We have kids. We have a history. You can’t just throw that away because of one mistake. One mistake that lasted how long? 6 months? A year? I pulled my arm back. When did it start, Brad? Before she moved here.
After? Was I making you feel neglected when I was planning Suz’s birthday party? Or when I was up all night with Harry’s stomach flu? You’re being dramatic and you’re being a coward. Pick one of us and say it out loud right now. Silence. Brad looked at me, then at Megan, then back at me. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. Megan filled the silence for him. There’s something you should know before you make any big decisions. Her hand moved to her stomach, rested there.
Light, almost casual. I’m pregnant. 8 weeks. Brad’s baby. The room stopped. Everything stopped. I could hear the candle flames flickering. the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. The sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. You knew? I asked Brad. She just told me today. That’s why I came over. I was trying to figure out how to handle it. His voice cracked.
I was going to tell you. I swear. I just needed time to think. Time to think. I laughed. The sound was hollow. Your girlfriend’s pregnant and you needed time to think about whether to mention it to your wife. She’s not my girlfriend. She’s carrying your baby. I think that qualifies. Megan smiled.
that same sweet, patient smile she’d used at every barbecue, every school event, every conversation where she’d pretended to be my friend while planning to take everything I had. This doesn’t have to be a disaster, she said. Plenty of families make blended situations work. Brad can be there for you and the kids and still be involved here. We’re all adults. We can figure this out together.
Together. I stared at her at the hand on her stomach, at the satisfaction in her eyes that she couldn’t quite hide. You planned this, the move, the pregnancy, all of it. I saw what I wanted and I went after it. That’s not a crime. No, it’s just pathetic. I turned to Brad. Don’t come by my house. Don’t call.
Don’t text the kids some explanation about needing space. You figure out what you’re going to tell them and then we’ll talk. I walked out without waiting for a response. I could hear Brad calling my name. I could feel Megan watching from the window. 10 ft of grass between her door and mine. 10 ft.
I’d walked a hundred times bringing cookies and making small talk and trying to be a good neighbor. She could have the 10 ft. She could have Brad. She could have whatever scraps of a life they managed to build together. Pregnant. She was pregnant. Megan stood there with her hand on her stomach like she’d already won. Like that baby was a checkmate and I was supposed to tip over my king and walk away.
Brad couldn’t even look at me. He knew what he’d done. He knew there was no explaining this away. But here’s what neither of them understood. A baby doesn’t save a sinking ship. It just means there’s one more person on board when it goes down. And I was done drowning for people who wanted to watch me sink. I had lawyers to call. I filed for divorce at 9:03 the next morning.
The courthouse opened at 9. I was the first person through the door. The clerk barely looked at me. She’d seen a thousand women like me walk up to that counter. Tired eyes, clenched jaw, wedding ring still on because taking it off felt like admitting defeat and keeping it on felt like a joke. She handed me the paperwork without asking questions.
I filled it out in the lobby with a pen I’d stolen from Suz’s backpack. Irreconcilable differences. That’s what the form called it. Four years of lies. A baby with another woman. A coworker he’d complained about so much I’d memorized every grievance. Irreconcilable differences. I signed my name and handed it back. Brad showed up at the house that afternoon.
I was in the kitchen making the kids lunches for the next day when I heard his key in the lock. I’d forgotten to change them. Stupid. That was going on the list. Elena. He stood in the doorway like a stranger, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to come in. Good. He shouldn’t be sure. We need to talk. I filed this morning. His face crumpled. Actually, crumpled like a paper bag someone had stepped on already.
You didn’t even give me a chance to explain. You had plenty of chances. You used them to lie to me. I made a mistake. He stepped closer. His voice was soft. Careful. The same voice he’d used a thousand times to talk me down from being upset. People make mistakes, Elena. It doesn’t mean we throw away 10 years of marriage. Think about the kids.
Think about what this is going to do to them. I am thinking about the kids. I kept spreading peanut butter on bread, smooth strokes, even layers. I’m thinking about what it would do to them to grow up watching their mother accept being treated like garbage. I’m thinking about what it would teach Susie about how women should let men behave. I’m thinking about what it would teach Harry about accountability.
So, that’s it. You’re just done? You’re not even going to try? I set down the knife and turned to face him. He looked smaller than I remembered. Or maybe I was just finally seeing him at actual size. I tried for 10 years. I tried when you worked late every night and I was home alone with a newborn. I tried when you forgot our anniversary 3 years in a row.
I tried when you complained about Megan constantly and I listened and sympathized and never once suspected that the reason you couldn’t stop talking about her was because you couldn’t stop thinking about her. His jaw tightened. That’s not fair, isn’t it? I laughed. The sound surprised both of us. Four years, Brad.
Four years of Megan’s so annoying and Megan won’t leave me alone. And Megan’s like a cockroach who won’t die. You know what I think now? I think you were mad, not at her, at yourself. Because you wanted her and you knew wanting her made you a bad person. So, you complained about her instead. Made her the villain. Made yourself the victim.
And I bought every word of it because I trusted you. You’re twisting everything. I’m seeing clearly for the first time in years. He changed tactics. I watched it happen in real time. The softness melted away. Something harder took its place. Fine. You want a divorce? Let’s talk about what that actually looks like. I make more money than you.
I can afford a better lawyer. You really want to drag this out in court? You really want the kids to go through that? Are you threatening me? I’m being realistic. He shrugged. You file for divorce. You’re not just leaving me. You’re leaving the life I provided. The house, the cars, the vacations.
You think you can maintain all that on your salary? I picked up the knife again, went back to the sandwiches. I think I’d rather live in a studio apartment with my dignity than in a mansion with a man who sleeps with the neighbor and blames me for it. Elena, get out. I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to. The kids will be home in an hour. I don’t want them to see you here.
You can pick them up on Saturday, supervised at my mother’s house until we figure out a real schedule. He stood there for a long moment. I could feel him weighing his options, trying to figure out an angle that would work. There wasn’t one, so he left without another word. The divorce took four months.
Four months of lawyers and paperwork and custody negotiations and Brad showing up to every meeting with a new strategy. First, he tried remorse. Then, he tried anger. Then, he tried making me look unstable. His lawyer brought up my erratic behavior and paranoid accusations. My lawyer brought up the text messages I’d subpoenaed from his phone.
14 months of conversations with Megan, explicit photos, plans to leave me once Harry started kindergarten so it would be less disruptive. The judge gave me primary custody. Brad got every other weekend and Wednesday dinners. He also got the privilege of paying child support for two households now since Megan’s baby was due in 5 months. I saw them together once about 3 weeks after the divorce finalized. I was picking up Susie from ballet.
The class Megan had stopped offering once she realized free access to my kids wasn’t part of the package anymore. Brad’s car was parked outside Megan’s house. I could see them through the window. She was gesturing wildly. He was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, the same couch I’d found them on. Funny how different it looked now.
The moving truck showed up at Megan’s house 6 weeks later. I watched from my kitchen window as she loaded boxes into the back alone. Brad’s car was nowhere to be seen. My mother told me later what happened. Small town, word travels. Apparently, Megan hadn’t realized that Brad’s lifestyle was mostly funded by our dual income.
the house we couldn’t really afford, the cars we’d leased instead of bought, the credit card debt we’d been juggling for years. She thought she was getting a successful finance guy with a nice house and a stable future. What she got was a man paying child support to two women living in a one-bedroom apartment and crying into his beer about the family he’d thrown away. She left him 3 weeks before the baby was born.
I don’t know where she went. I don’t care. The house next door sat empty for 2 months before a nice older couple bought it. They brought me cookies the day they moved in. I almost laughed. Brad still picks up the kids every other weekend. He’s thinner now, quieter. The charm that used to work on everyone doesn’t seem to fit him anymore.
Susie told me he cries sometimes when he thinks she’s not looking. Harry asked me last week if daddy was sad because of something he did. I told him no. Daddy was sad because of something daddy did. And that’s an important