Where Time Fades, Blooms Freedom

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I was thirty-seven when my husband had an affair.

I married him right after college. Fifteen years, just like that.

Everyone told me I had a life to be envied. My husband, Mark, was a high-flying corporate executive. At home, he covered every expense, every bill, a provider far better than most.

It felt like a bitter pill I was supposed to swallow.

At first, I truly intended to. The girl looked like she was barely out of her teens, while Mark had just turned thirty-eight. Our son was already in high school.

That was until she found me, her face a mess of tears, clutching the hem of her shirt and begging me to step aside.

Her eyes were glistening, just like mine had been all those years ago, drunk on love. In the mirror, I saw myselfthe lines around my mouth had deepened into something less joyful, and the dark circles from sleepless nights with a sick child were a permanent fixture.

"Please," she whispered, "I love him so much. I'm begging you, let us be happy."

I played along, my voice casual. "And what's the plan after the divorce?"

Her eyes lit up, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "We're going to Iceland to see the Northern Lights, and then we'll have a daughter. Mark always said he wanted a soft, sweet little girl to cuddle"

Mark wanted a daughter?

He was the one who swore that our son and I were all he ever needed. He was the one who said he would never let me go through the pain of childbirth again.

Promises, it seemed, just rotted away with time.

My playful mood vanished. "I was kidding," I said, my voice flat. "Mark and I have been married for fifteen years. Our careers, our finances, our entire lives are tangled together. We're not getting divorced. Instead of fantasizing about the future, you should start thinking about your own."

When I got home, Mark was on the couch, laptop open, lost in his work. The years had been kind to him; the tailored suit only amplified his mature charm. He heard the door open but didn't look up, his fingers still flying across the keyboard.

This was our silent agreement, forged over years of practice. As long as I didn't bring it up, he could pretend nothing was wrong.

I tied on my apron and quickly whipped up dinnerthree dishes and a soup. Mark closed his laptop and joined me at the table.

"Alex said his school's track meet is next week. He wants you to be there."

"Okay."

"Dad's blood pressure is acting up again. We need to get him in for a check-up."

"You schedule it."

"The chandelier in the living room is flickering. Should I call someone to fix it?"

"Whatever."

"Sophie came to see me today."

He finally looked up, his brow furrowed with impatience.

"And?"

His mistress confronts me, and all he can say is "And?"

Even with all my years of practiced restraint, I felt my hand tighten around my chopsticks.

"Mark, we're married. You are cheating on me."

He slammed his own chopsticks on the table, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "Sarah, don't make it sound so ugly. Sophie is young and naive. It's nothing. Stop letting your imagination run wild."

Young? She was in her twenties. The man's capacity for self-deception was laughable.

The rest of the meal was tasteless.

I thought wed be locked in a cold war for a while.

But the next day, I came home early from a business trip and found Sophie curled up on my sofa.

She was wearing the new silk nightgown Id just bought, her face tilted up as Mark fed her a strawberry.

"Oh, Mark, the strawberries you feed me are so much sweeter!"

"You're such a little flirt," he chuckled. "Have another."

The sight of that bright red berry made my throat tighten. I used to love strawberries, and he would feed them to me just like that, one by one. Now, that tenderness belonged to someone else.

Sophie giggled, swinging a pair of long, pale legs. I saw Mark's gaze darken as he pulled her into his arms.

Just as their lips were about to meet, I pushed the door open.

Sophie didn't pull away. Instead, a defiant smirk played on her lips. "Well, hello again. I was just having some cramps, and Mark was comforting me. You're not mad, are you?"

She snuggled deeper into his embrace. I saw his Adam's apple bob, a warning glint in his eyes.

I, who had always been the picture of grace and composure, had no idea how to react.

Should I launch myself at them like a madwoman? Should I scream and tear away his hypocritical mask?

Neither seemed like it would change a thing.

Maybe divorce was the only way out. Our shared assets over the years would be more than enough for Alex and me to start over.

Maybe once I was free, I could rediscover the woman I'd lost. Maybe I, too, could have a second chance at life

At that thought, I set down my suitcase, looked Mark straight in the eye, and said, my voice quiet but unshakeable, "Let's get a divorce."

Mark refused. His reason? He hadn't committed any "fundamental error."

Then he unleashed the hounds, calling in relatives and friends to talk me down.

My in-laws, whom I had cared for over fifteen years, told me it wasn't a physical affair, so why not just tolerate it? They even offered to convince Mark to sign over five percent of his company shares to me as a consolation prize.

Our mutual friends warned me that the girl was just a gold-digger. If I left, I'd be handing her exactly what she wanted. Mark's business was booming, his net worth climbing. Only a fool would walk away from that kind of wealth.

My best friend, who was going through her own messy divorce, sighed and told me to reconsider. Her husband had also cheated, but he was broke and ugly. "Look," she said, "any man with a pulse is going to cheat. At least Mark is rich."

It seemed money was the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card, capable of absolving any sin committed within a marriage.

I didn't say a word. I just kept gathering the documents for the divorce.

My father heard the news and stormed over. The moment he walked in, he slapped me across the face.

His face was red with fury. "What man doesn't have to entertain clients? So what if there's a woman or two on the side? He's been good to you for fifteen years, isn't that enough? You have to blow everything up and end up a pathetic divorce? You're almost forty, Sarah! Who do you think is going to want you now?"

He looked healthy and well-fed. Clearly, my stepmother was taking good care of him, and my new little brother was behaving. He had no time for his daughter's trivial heartaches.

The last person to try and change my mind was my son, Alex.

When he came home from school, my first instinct was to hug him.

He shoved me away. "Why do you have to divorce Dad?"

I, who had stood my ground against everyone else, suddenly felt small.

"Your father is with another woman, Alex. I can't live with him anymore."

"You mean Sophie? Dad told me she's just a friend." He looked at me with an exasperated expression that was a perfect mirror of his father's. "Mom, you've lived a life of luxury for half your life. Do you really think you can handle being on your own? Don't come crying to me when you can't."

Honestly, before he got home, I had held onto a sliver of hope that the child I had raised with my own two hands would, at the very least, give me a hug. I imagined he would storm up to his father, demanding to know why he had hurt me, and stand firmly by my side.

Instead, he unleashed a torrent of anger at me, then stomped upstairs.

BAM!

The slam of his door was so violent it felt like it shook my soul.

Sarah, how did your life come to this?

That evening, while I was in the shower, Mark came into the bathroom for the first time in what felt like forever. It had been over a year since we'd last been intimate.

He walked in, his eyes cold, but his hands moved with a familiar confidence, tracing paths across my skin.

"Don't be angry anymore, okay?" he murmured. "I'll send her away tomorrow. You'll never see her again."

A warmth spread over my skin, but a chilling frost was creeping into my heart.

I closed my eyes, letting tears mingle with the hot water streaming down my face.

"Mark."

"Hmm?"

"Did you sleep with her?"

Silence.

The unspoken answer was enough. A wave of fury washed over me.

"You are absolutely disgusting."

His temper snapped. He shoved me away, hard.

A sharp pain shot through my ankle, but before I could even look, he grabbed my chin and dragged me in front of the mirror.

"I'm disgusting? What about you? Aren't you disgusting?" he snarled.

"Look at yourself! Look at that butchered haircutis there anything feminine about you? Look at your breasts, they're sagging down to your stomach! And your face, covered in spots it's impossible to even look at you, let alone kiss you!"

"Sarah, do you even look like a woman anymore?"

He squeezed my breast cruelly, his eyes filled with icy contempt.

"This is how we'll live. I guarantee you a life of comfort and security. But if you divorce me, I swear, I will make your life a living hell."

Long after he had left, I was still trembling. I couldn't believe the man I had loved for two decades could say such things. Or had he changed long ago, and I had simply been too blind to see it?

I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms, a sharp, grounding pain.

Mark, you think you have me trapped, don't you? You think you can do whatever you want?

Just you wait. This divorce is happening.

The next morning, Mark had, for once, made breakfast. Alex was already eating, but he looked down as soon as he saw me, pointedly ignoring me.

Mark played the peacemaker, coaxing our son. "Now, Alex, what did we talk about yesterday? We agreed we were going to forgive Mom."

Alex reluctantly muttered, "Morning, Mom."

"He was tired from the trip yesterday," Mark said, his voice smooth as silk. "Come and eat. I made your favorite, club sandwiches."

He met my gaze across the table, a look of undisguised triumph in his eyes.

I said nothing. A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. The housekeeper showed Sophie in.

"Good morning, Mrs. Gordon. I'm just here to drop off a file for Mark."

They shook hands, a little too formally. Alex, seeing nothing wrong, actually invited Sophie to join them for breakfast.

She hesitated for a moment before sliding into my seat at the table.

As if to spite me, Alex pushed my plate in front of her. Then he poured her a glass of orange juice, my usual morning drink.

Sophie, in turn, poured all her energy into charming Alex. "Oh, Alex, you're so sweet! I was worried you'd be standoffish, like your mother"

"My mom's just going through menopause," Alex grumbled. "She's paranoid, convinced you and Dad are having an affair. Just ignore her."

By the end of the meal, the two of them were acting like best friends.

I had stopped listening the moment Alex called me paranoid. I walked out of the house.

There was someone I needed to see. An old classmate I hadn't seen in over a decade.

My first love, and now, the city's top litigator: Nathan.

In the quiet corner of a coffee shop, I laid out the whole story for Nathan.

He just snorted. "And you're really willing to let all that go?"

He hadn't changed a bit. Still the same prickly personality. If he'd been even a little bit gentler back then, I never would have broken up with him.

I wasn't in the mood to argue with him. I pulled a card from my purse.

"I did my research. Your current rate is a million for a case like this. Here's half a million upfront. The other half when it's finalized. This is business, Nathan. No feelings involved."

Nathan picked up the card, toyed with it for a second, then slipped it into his pocket.

"At your service, my wealthy client."

On the way back, he offered me a ride.

While I'd been living a life of domestic bliss, his had been much harder. I'd heard his wife passed away from an illness a few years ago. They never had children. Hed poured everything into his work, rising to become one of the most formidable lawyers in the state.

Nathan's car was a flashy, ostentatious Maserati that roared to life.

I couldn't help but frown. "You're not twenty anymore. Why are you still into such loud, flashy things?" I wondered how his late wife had ever put up with him.

He just raised an eyebrow. "You used to love it, remember?"

That shut me up. He was right. In my twenties, I'd been drawn to all things loud and shiny. But who has the energy for that when you're pushing forty?

I dropped the subject. After he dropped me off, I sent him another three hundred dollars.

N: ?

S: For the ride.

N: Of course. Anything for my client.

Despite the ridiculous car, Nathan gave me a masterclass in divorce preparation. Following his advice, I managed to get a clear picture of Mark's finances. Then I hired a private investigator who quickly found the address of his little love nest.

It was an apartment Id bought before we were married. We lived there when we were dating and in the first few years of our marriage. We only moved into our current house after Alex was born and we needed space for a live-in nanny.

I hadn't been back in years. And Mark had hidden her there?

I found the old key and went over on a day I knew they'd be out.

Nothing inside had changed, except for the clutter of a new life.

It was painfully obvious how badly Sophie wanted to marry Mark.

Behind the sofa hung a portrait of the two of them. On the dining table sat a hand-crocheted doll she'd made. In the kitchen, a rich, fragrant soup simmered on low.

It would have been a perfect picture of domestic bliss, if the pose in their portrait wasn't an exact copy of one of ours.

If the doll wasn't my favorite orange-slice character.

And if the soup wasn't the special recipe I developed to soothe Mark's chronic stomach issues.

The recipe for that soup I had only ever given it to one person: my mother-in-law.

Which meant that besides me, she was the only one who knew it.

And now, it was simmering in the home of Marks mistress.

This cascade of betrayals made me wonder if I was such a failure that everyone in my life felt no hesitation in hurting me.

Just as my emotions were churning into a maelstrom, the front door opened.

Sophie burst in, beaming.

She threw herself into Mark's waiting arms.

"It's wonderful, Mark! I'm finally going to give you a daughter!"

Mark stroked her face, his expression full of adoration. Then he looked up, and his eyes met mine.