Jeneva Rose

1

S A R A H M O R G A N

I knew when I married Bob, I would divorce him one day, because men are like lawyers. They can’t be trusted. And I would know because I am one . . . and so is he. My husband sits across from me at a conference table made for twenty, but there are only four of us in this room today: myself, Bob, and our respective lawyers. I’m trying not to look at the man I spent the last twelve years with. However, I can feel his dark eyes on me, so I meet his gaze just to make him look away. The top two buttons on his starched white shirt are undone, and his tie hangs loosely around his neck. Despite the cool temperature of the room, droplets of sweat cling to his hairline.

“My client is interested in reconciliation.” Brad pushes up the sleeve of his jacket, showing off a solid-gold Rolex Day-Date.

It’s like he’s trying to say, Look how good of a lawyer I am. He sports slick blond hair and a clean-shaven face, the complete opposite of my husband’s dark locks and five-o’clock shadow.

Brad is Bob’s lawyer, longtime friend, and full-time slimeball.

He’s known for cutting corners to get the results he wants, which is fine because so am I.

“That’s out of the question,” Jess says firmly. She cocks her head and sits up a little taller in her chair. Jess is my lawyer, and she does everything by the book. The yin to my yang.

“Sarah, it was one time.” Bob clenches his jaw and rubs harshly at his brow as though he’s trying to wake himself from a bad dream. But this is our life now, our reality, and he’s the one that put us here. “I promise,” he adds. “It was just one time.”

Isn’t that what they all say? It was only one time. It was an accident, an error of judgment, something completely out of character, something they’ll never do again. It didn’t mean any- thing. She didn’t mean anything. Yeah, that is what they all say, but only once they get caught. They’re not sorry for what they’ve done. They’re sorry that you know what they’ve done. And Bob’s no different. He’s just like the rest of them.

Brad gives him a knowing look and slightly shakes his head, signaling for him to stop talking. I can tell it’s hard for Bob to be the client and not the lawyer, but he concedes—letting out

a deep sigh as he leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest.

“I’d like to reiterate that my client accepts full responsibility for his major error in judgment and has agreed to attend six counseling sessions in order to move forward with reconciliation,” Brad says, steepling his hands in front of his face. Streaks of sunlight pierce through the partially open blinds, glinting off his Rolex, making a kaleidoscope of light dance across the wall each time he tilts his wrist.

“Your client should have attended counseling sessions before his infidelity.” Jess purses her lips and slowly slides a piece of paper across the table. “These are Ms. Morgan’s demands.” Bob uncrosses his arms and leans forward, snapping up the paper before his lawyer can. He narrows his eyes and puckers his forehead as he scans the page. I can tell he’s not liking what he’s reading, which is exactly the point.

“Absolutely not,” Bob scoffs, flinging the paper. Brad catches it as it’s still floating in the air and smooths the sheet out on the table.

“We believe it’s a fair offer,” Jess says.

Brad lifts his head and stares back at her. “My client is not giving up custody of his daughter. He’s also not relinquishing his seat on the Morgan Foundation board, nor his stake in the

charity.”

“I’m not giving up on us . . . period,” Bob pleads. He extends his hand toward me, hoping I’ll meet him halfway, but

I don’t reach for it. Instead, I remove my hands from the table and fold them in my lap.

“Sarah, please,” he adds.

I bite my tongue to stop myself from responding because I know silence hurts him more than any quip I could ever possibly make. And I want to hurt him as much as he’s hurt me.

“My client has no interest in reconciling the marriage,” Jess clarifies.

Brad leans over to Bob and speaks in hushed whispers. Bob’s face grows more upset with each word. His skin flushes, and his sharp jawline becomes even more prominent as he grinds his teeth.

When they finish with their little chat, Brad clears his throat and straightens in his chair. “Since we don’t seem to be making any progress, I think we should reconvene at a later date.”

“These meetings are not intended to repair the marriage, nor will they, Brad. The only progress we should be making is coming to an agreement on the division of assets and custody of Summer. I’d like to reiterate that Ms. Morgan requested a clean, quick, and private divorce. We do not wish for this to be dragged out, nor for it to be disputed in court, but we will if we have to,” Jess says, her mouth forming into a hard line.

And with that, I stand from my seat, smoothing out my skirt and rebuttoning my blazer.

“Noted,” Brad says, packing up his briefcase, an ostentatious and garish orange Hermès piece. “I’ll have my assistant reach out to set up another meeting.”

Bob rises to his feet and meets my gaze. He’s a foot taller than me with wide shoulders and a toned physique. The salt-and- pepper look really works on him, same with the stress wrinkles lightly etched into his forehead. He appears wise and distinguished even though he doesn’t act like it.

“I’ll give you a call later, Sarah,” Jess says as I start toward the door.

I pause and acknowledge her before leaving the room.

“Sarah, wait,” Bob calls out, trailing close behind me. I keep walking, ignoring him entirely but then, all of a sudden, a hand is on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks. My heart hammers against my rib cage.

“Please,” he adds.

I let out a heavy sigh and turn to face my husband. I can barely even see him standing in front of me because he’s already a part of my past. He just doesn’t realize it yet, and I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.

“What?” I ask.

There’s no emotion in my voice because anything I felt for my husband vanished the instant I learned of his infidelity.

“Please don’t do this,” Bob says in a strained whisper.

His eyes frantically search mine, like they’re trying to lock us back in place. But there’s no place in the world for us anymore because I can’t be married to someone I don’t trust. To me trust is like glass. Once you break it, you can’t put it back together—and even if you tried, you’d end up cutting yourself in the process. So, you may as well just throw it away.

“You’re lucky the worst thing I’m doing to you is divorcing you.” My words come out soft, almost soothing.

“Is that a threat?” he asks, his face turning incredulous.

“You know I don’t make threats, Bob.”

He furrows his brow and starts to puff out his chest, challenging me, but I’ve seen enough. I shake my head as I turn on my heel and walk toward the elevator. He calls out my name

several times, his voice growing quieter as I put more distance between us—or maybe it’s just losing its conviction. Good. I hope that’s the case.

Bob is really testing my patience. All I wanted was a quick and quiet divorce—kind of like his affair, I suppose. But no, he has to fight me every step of the way because he thinks this is something we’ll be able to work through. It’s not, and deep down, Bob knows that too. I’ve tried to remain civil; I really have—for the sake of our daughter, who’s still blissfully unaware of our imminent divorce. I’ve put off telling her, wanting to wait until it’s a done deal and raw emotions have waned, so the focus can be on her and only her. I seem to be the only one that cares about our daughter’s feelings and well-being.

At the elevator, I press the Down button and wait for it to appear. I can still feel Bob’s presence, but I don’t look back. I truly wish things were different. They were supposed to be

different. Parenthood is supposed to make you want to be a better person, or at the very least, make you think you’re a better person. Motherhood changed me just like I knew it would. But apparently, becoming a father did nothing for Bob. He didn’t only cheat on me. He cheated on our family. And he pretended to be something he’s not capable of being—decent.

The elevator dings and opens. I step inside, hit the Lobby button, and raise my chin, staring back at Bob. He stands at the end of the hallway, his eyes fixed on mine like we’re in the

midst of a showdown. His face is a mixture of resentment and sorrow, but there’s a glimmer of something else, something I’ve seen before. I just can’t place it. Neither of us breaks eye contact until we’re forced to by the closing doors.

The elevator hums as it begins its descent, putting even more distance between us. We’ve been together for more than a decade but married for a little over a year. Bob’s lucky I’m not the same woman I was when I was with Adam, my first husband. If I had had children with Adam, maybe he’d still be around. Because, as I said, becoming a mother changed me, and I know they say people can’t change. They can though. At the core, we are who we are—but that doesn’t mean parts of us can’t soften or harden over time.