4
My father even called Blake. “My dear son–in–law, I’ve already given her a piece of my mind. When you get back, we’ll all have dinner. I’ll make her apologize to
you properly!”
My mother said, “You’re not a child anymore. Stop throwing these tantrums. Apologize to Blake, and don’t you ever mention divorce again.”
What tantrum? Maybe that was the problem. I wasn’t allowed to be angry. If I got angry, it meant I didn’t know my place. Everyone around me was constantly
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reminding me that I had married up, that I should be
grateful.
Maybe it was the time his shirt came home with lipst-
ick on it. I asked him about it, and he just sneered, “It
‘s just a lipstick stain. I didn’t sleep with her. I don’t
love her. Is something so trivial worth getting worked up about? Have you forgotten who pays the bills
around here?”
Maybe it was the parties with his friends, where they
would use me for entertainment, and he would lau-
gh along. And when I got upset, he’d say, “Why are
you so sensitive? Can’t you take a joke? Is this what
all housewives are like, so insecure?”
Maybe it was the way he would always tell me about
which heiress was hitting on him, but he’d turned
her down. Or which wealthy businesswoman was pursuing him, but he’d told her he was married. And then he’d always end with, “Your husband is a hot commodity. You’d better hold on tight. Be good, and
don’t make me angry. Men like me are in high dema-
nd.”
He probably thought he was proving his loyalty while
simultaneously putting me in my place. But I didn’t
want to hear it. I don’t remember when I stopped
wanting to hear it. I just felt that we were no longer
equals.
Blake hadn’t been home for almost a month. It was peaceful. I was afraid that if he came back, he’d try to kick me out. The house was his, after all.
I heard from Phoebe that he was living in the penth- ouse suite of his favorite club. That hostess, Hannah, was the one cleaning his room every day. A cocktail waitress was now his personal housekeeper. Blake
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waitress was now his personal housekeeper. Blake
was clearly enjoying it. Hannah would even take pict-
ures of the meals she cooked for him and post them
in the group chat, and on her own social media. I was still in that chat. She was provoking me.
Phoebe said, “Zoe, snap out of it. If you keep this up, Blake is really going to divorce you!”
A lot of Phoebe’s business depended on Blake’s co- mpany. If we divorced, she was afraid it would affect
her bottom line.
Phoebe arranged a dinner. My parents dragged me
there.
Blake was late. When he arrived, Hannah was with him. She smoothly took his coat and hung it up. “Mr. Thorne, I’ll wait for you outside.”
“Go wait in the private room next door. Order whate- ver you want. Put it on my tab.” Then he turned to us and explained, “It’s been a crazy month. My assistant is on leave, so I asked Hannah to help out temporar- ily. There’s nothing going on between us.”
See? He even offered an explanation.
“Mom, Dad, I didn’t know you’d be here. I’ll have a drink to apologize.” He downed his glass in one go.
My father quickly stood up. “We know you’re busy. Our daughter is the one causing you trouble! I should be the one apologizing to you!”
My mother said, “Zoe! Apologize to Blake right now. Let’s put this behind us. I’ll mediate.”
Blake looked at me smugly, waiting for my apology. Even Phoebe pinched my arm and whispered, “He’s
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giving you a way out. Take it. Tomorrow is the last day of the cooling–off period. This is your last chance!
“Zoe!”
“Honey!”
They were all pressuring me. Blake was leisurely pou- ring himself another drink, savoring it. Everyone arou- nd me was a beneficiary of my marriage. Of course they didn’t want me to get divorced. Did they love me? No. They loved the benefits they were reaping.
“Tomorrow, we sign the divorce papers. Be there on
time.”
I said my piece and stood up to leave.
The glass slipped from Blake’s hand and shattered on the floor. He looked up at me in disbelief, as if to say, Wasn’t this whole dinner about giving you a cha- nce to apologize and win me back? Why are you still so determined to divorce me in front of everyone?
My parents tried everything to change my mind. Wh- en they couldn’t, they resorted to insults. “Have you gone stupid from being a housewife for so long? You‘ ll never find a man like Blake! After the divorce, you’ll just sit on your money until it runs out? And if you remarry, what do you think those men will be after?”
“You’re insane! A man like Blake, even if he did have someone on the side, it would be understandable. But he doesn’t! What are you making such a fuss about? Why do you always choose the hardest path?” They weren’t wrong. When I got into a top university, I could have had a stable, predictable life. I chose to drop out and struggle with Blake. Now that life was
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good, I was choosing to divorce him.
