A whole future already drafted out while he kissed me goodbye in the mornings and asked what restaurant I wanted for tomorrow’s make-up anniversary.
I looked at him and saw a stranger wearing my husband’s face.
Emily — because that was the name he finally choked out in the next breath, “Emily, stop”—crossed her arms over her stomach and frowned at him.
“What? You said you were handling it after the anniversary so you wouldn’t look like the bad guy divorcing her before you celebrated.”
That was the worst thing anyone said all night. It’s like she was determined to see me shattered.
This woman, whom I knew nothing about, was enjoying this scenario.
Meanwhile, my husband was silent.
He had been waiting for our anniversary to pass before telling me he wanted a divorce.
He had let me believe we would be celebrating tomorrow.
Was that when he would hand me the divorce papers?
