Prologue
Finding an empty condom wrapper in my husband’s jeans wouldn’t have been surprising—if we actually used condoms.
In fact, I hadn’t even bought them in over a decade.
A decision I was right now, at this very moment, massively regretting.
I drew in a sudden, sharp breath, realizing I’d forgotten how to breathe. In. Out. In. Nope. For the life of me, I could not remember how to breathe. It always seemed to be so easy—not something you had to think about.
Feeling more than a little lightheaded, I plunked my ass down on the edge of the bed. Head between your knees. That thought popped into my head out of nowhere. At this point I was willing to try anything. Still unable to breathe, I threw my torso forward, hanging my head as far as my body would allow.
Slowly, I was able to take in a small gulp of air. Then another. My head pounded as the blood rushed to it. Images of my husband—and whoever his whore was—raced through my mind. How long had this been going on? Was there more than one other woman?
After a few minutes, I sat back up, my head spinning with questions and flashes of my husband on top of and behind blurry-faced blondes and brunettes. Shit. I was going to be sick. My stomach roiled and I knew I had to get to the bathroom. Fast.
Stumbling to our tiny en suite, I barely made it in time. Afterward, as I rinsed my mouth out, I peered at the woman staring back at me in the mirror. I barely recognized myself anymore. Hair in a messy bun, dark circles under my eyes from so many years of little sleep. Staying up nights had definitely taken a toll on me.
It couldn’t be helped. Someone had to make the money around here. Thinking about what exactly my husband had been up to while I was working made my throat dry and scratchy. “Breathe. You are better than this. Do not let him see you cry,” I whispered to myself while I wiped away a few tears that had escaped.
“Let’s do this,” I said, straightening my shoulders. I looked upward for the strength I was going to need.
I found him sitting at the kitchen table, phone in hand, laptop open. Just like always. He didn’t even notice when I’d walked into the room. After waiting a minute for him to acknowledge my presence, a burning the likes I’d never felt before began to take over.
A strange, feverish sensation inflamed my body. No more waiting. Storming over to him, I threw his jeans on the keyboard. His deep brown eyes shot to mine. Those damn eyes were what had first drawn me to him all those years ago.
The same eyes our daughter had.
The condom wrapper sailed on top of the jeans.
“Tony, I’ve got to run. Can I call you back?” he asked whoever was on the line before he tapped the screen.
Tossing his phone to the table, he leaned back in his chair. “What did you expect?”
The ball of anger doubled—no, tripled—underneath my rib cage. “I expected you to not fuck other women,” I shouted, grateful our child was currently at a playdate.
A sneer covered his face that looked so evil it scared the shit out of me. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “Then who exactly am I supposed to fuck?” His eyes traveled up and down my body, turning my blood to ice. “You?”
My blood pressure shot up even higher as I felt ready to explode. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. This had been a bone of contention the last few years. We’d had nearly opposite schedules. Sex wasn’t exactly a priority.
“You’re a cold fish at the best of times. Even you know that.” He chuckled in a sardonic manner. “You’d think someone with your body and your moves could—”
I cut him off. “Shut up.” My voice was low, warning.
“The way you dance up there on the stage,” he said, biting his bottom lip, “a man would swear you’d be good in bed.”
“You did not just say that,” I said, raising my hands to my hips, holding on for dear life. “Are you even fucking kidding me right now?” I took a few steps closer to him. “I strip so you can go to school. Which I might add, you specifically told me I could quit doing a year ago so I could finish my education,” I said, slapping the palm of my hand to my chest.
“This is supposed to be my time. All this damn sacrifice so you could go to med school is supposed to be done. Now it’s my turn.” The crack in my voice surprised even me as the sudden realization sunk in. I wasn’t going to get my turn, was I? Ten years of working nights, practically raising our kid alone while he went to school and finished his internship.
And all I was going to get out of this was a used condom wrapper—from a condom he’d used on someone else.
An idea for a T-shirt flew into my head—“I put my husband through med school and all I got was this stupid T-shirt and a used condom wrapper”.
“Ha!” he exclaimed, throwing his head backward. “You finish school? Like that would ever happen.”
The bastard. “That was our deal, Dan,” I said steadily, keeping my voice low. “Ten years ago, you agreed. I’d put you through med school, then you’d help me finish physio school.” It felt like the walls were closing in on me. I’d gotten on the stage sometimes five nights a week or more. Every time, before I stepped one high heel onto the scuffed-up wood of the stage, I would take a deep breath and think, “This is one less time I have to go out there.”
Now my world was crumbling around me. Had he ever planned on holding up his end of the deal? Or had this been his goal right from the start? Find some gullible woman to put him through school and leave?
The acid in my stomach started to boil again. “I only have a year left, you said if I quit and helped you then you’d do the same for me.”
“Chloe, you and I both know you never had what it takes to finish school. You were looking for an excuse to quit.”
That was it. The top of my head was surely going to pop right off. “What the hell are you saying?” I leaned both hands on the edge of the table for support. “I quit because of you.” Nearly breathless, I concentrated on inhaling deeply. I would not faint in front of him.
“You keep telling yourself that.” His big chest bounced up and down as he laughed. “You were a dirty stripper when I met you and you still and will always be a dirty stripper.”
1
A year later…
“Mommy, are you picking me up from school or is Auntie Kendall?” my daughter asked me while I shoved her food into her lunch bag.
“Umm, let me see how my day goes. But I bet Auntie Kendall will be there,” I said, peering up at her sweet face. She tried not to let her disappointment show. Maya loved Kendall. That wasn’t the issue. The thing was, she really loved it when I picked her up.
So much had changed for her in the last year. For both of us. Some things she missed more than others. Like me picking her up after school.
Back home, I was always there waiting for her everyday when the bell rang. Her flushed, smiling grin would greet me as she’d inevitably barrel right into my arms. Then we’d stay to play in the playground and the park. Much to the envy of many of the other kids who had to rush right home.
All that changed when we’d moved three states over. My best friend, Kendall, and her husband had insisted we move in with them. They’d practically kidnapped us the day after I told them what my husband had done.