Delia
I stare at the envelope.Five years of my life collapsed into what feels like a brick in my hand. It’s the end of what came on fast and ended up furious. He cheated. It happens, but probably explains my current attitude toward men.
Trust…minimal.
Hope…marginal.
Laughter…none.
I used to laugh. I used to trust. I used to have hope for the future.
But…
If I’m being honest, my ex, Charlie, wasn’t the one for me. He was too much.
Too cocky. Too attention seeking. Too…mean.
Words hurt. That’s what I learned from him. He was sneaky too. I’d be having a late-night snack and he’d says something like “Maybe stop at two cookies this time,” or “I know women who would never eat after six o’clock.”
Yeah, the one he was screwing behind my back, apparently.
Don’t get me wrong. The man was a God in bed and I’m not exactly sure why he was with me other than my last name… Billingsley. My great uncle invented the toilet paper roll. Yeah, I’m not kidding. And my family has money.
But I don’t.
I decided to step away from the money when I married. Corporate life wasn’t for me. I give kudos to those who can thrive in that environment, but it stifled me.
I drop the envelope on the breakroom table when Mari comes in. “Hey boss, how are you today?”
She blows up her cheeks and blows out the breath with a flutter of her lips. “Well, the dog ate Lily’s homework. Literally. Cosmo told me he needed twenty-four cookies for his class at ten o’clock last night and I have cramps so bad that I want to tear my uterus out through my belly button.”
Okay, so maybe sometimes I laugh.
And this is one of those times.
She tips her head at me. “Really?”
“Come on…the dog actually ate my homework! Your kids are the best.”
“Be glad you never had any…” she stills and the tension between us ratchets. “I’m sorry Delia.”
“No worries. I know you didn’t mean it.”
Just another reason Charlie didn’t want me. PCOS. Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. Fancy name for hard to conceive. Oh, we tried. Like I said, it was the one thing that Charlie could do right. But he also used it as a reason to divorce me, too. It was like I found out, told him, and then he looked at me differently.
It taught me that telling a man the truth can lead to consequences.
And also that I’m better off without one…a man, not the truth.
Mari slumps into a chair and sees the envelope. She knows the return address. Heck, she’s the one who suggested the law firm…and the lawyer. She used her when she divorced her problem child.
“Is that the final?”
“Yep. It’s done.”
“That took…”
“Two years. He decided to make it as painful as possible.”