Chapter 4: Being A Perfect Housewife
Then another message that made my blood run cold: "Also, our family has decided to terminate our country club membership."
Why would Rebecca suddenly leave the club? That's Westport's most important social circle.
I tried calling three other lawyers I knew from the community. Each one had a different excuse. Even Jennifer, my college roommate who practiced family law in New Haven, suddenly thought we should "work things out privately."
David's reach was longer than I'd imagined. He was cutting off all my escape routes.
My phone rang as I pulled into our driveway. David's voice was furious.
"Sarah, why are you calling lawyers all over town? Do you want the entire community to know our private business?"
"David, this is called protecting my legal rights, not causing drama."
"You better think about the consequences. Rebecca already understands what's at stake. I hope you can be equally smart."
So you did threaten Rebecca. You made her give up her club membership.
In the background, Jessica's voice rang out deliberately loud: "David, this steak is so tender! I've never eaten at such a fancy restaurant!"
I recognized the ambient noise—The Capital Grille, where David and I used to celebrate our anniversaries.
"Wait, are you on the phone?" Jessica continued sweetly. "Is that Sarah? Let me say thank you! If she hadn't recommended me for the job, I never would have met such an amazing man like you."
The absolute audacity of this bitch.
"Sarah," David's voice dropped to a threatening whisper, "I'm giving you one last chance. Tomorrow we'll sit down and talk like adults. You can name your terms. But if you keep making trouble, don't blame me for what happens next."
Before I could respond, I heard Jessica giggle: "David, look at that couple over there—they're so in love! When will we be able to be together openly like that?"
The line went dead.
That evening, as I lay in bed scrolling through my phone, Jessica posted an Instagram photo that made my stomach turn. Two place settings at The Capital Grille, a man's hand wearing David's distinctive Rolex reaching across the table. The caption read: "Grateful for second chances and new beginnings ✨ #blessed #newchapter"
The post was set to limited visibility—only I and a few mutual friends from the mom groups could see it. She was deliberately announcing her victory to Westport's inner circle.
When I checked the Westport Academy parent group chat, I noticed the shift immediately. Moms who usually responded to my messages within minutes were leaving me on read. Lisa had posted some sanctimonious article about "family values" with a photo of an intact nuclear family.
The tide was already turning. People were choosing sides, and it wasn't mine.
At two in the morning, I sat at the kitchen island with my laptop open and my wine glass empty. The house felt different now—not like a home, but like a place I was visiting.
David wasn't just leaving me. He was making sure I had nowhere to go, no legal help, no social support, no financial independence.
But as I started typing into Google—"how to collect evidence of adultery," "Connecticut fault vs. no-fault divorce," "protecting marital assets," "Mitchell & Associates corporate registration"—I felt something shift inside me.
David thinks he holds all the cards because I've been playing the perfect housewife for thirteen years. But he forgot something important—I helped build his career once. I made the connections, I found the clients, I supported him when he had nothing.
David, you think I'll just quietly leave Westport and let you live happily ever after with Jessica? You're wrong.
I'm not afraid of losing face—I'm afraid of Emma and Jake growing up with Jessica as their stepmother, watching her mistreat them.
I'm going to take back everything that belongs to me—not just the money, but my dignity in this community.
And since you want me to be the perfect housewife so badly, that's exactly what I'm going to be. I'll play that role perfectly.