Chapter 3
Sarah
I came home early from my shift at 6:30, exhausted from a double weekend rotation. Something felt off the moment I stepped through the door.
Jake was on the balcony, his back to me, phone pressed to his ear. His voice carried through the sliding glass doors with unusual excitement.
"David, I finally have the status to match Madison's caliber. She just got divorced - perfect timing."
I froze.
"Dude, you're married with a kid. What about Sarah?" David's voice was faint but audible through the speaker.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I set the bags down as quietly as possible, straining to hear every word.
Jake replied, "Sarah helped me through community college, but Madison is my league now. She gets the vision, the ecosystem, the whole Silicon Valley game."
Years of marriage reduced to a stepping stone.
Jake laughed - actually laughed. "Madison texted me about some Stanford mixer. This is my shot, man."
My hands shaking as Jake continued talking about his "shot" with another woman.
Two hours later, I locked myself in our bedroom, claiming I needed to sort through some old clothes. Instead, I sat on our bed with my phone, scrolling through Jake's social media with trembling fingers.
The evidence was everywhere, hiding in plain sight. Every single one of Madison's Instagram posts had Jake's like - her yoga poses, her vacation selfies from Napa, her "thought leadership" posts about disrupting venture capital.
On LinkedIn, he'd endorsed every single one of her skills. Her Twitter posts about female entrepreneurs? Jake retweeted them all with comments like "Brilliant insights from a brilliant mind."
"Nine years..." I whispered to the empty room. "After all I've done to support him through everything, this is the thanks I get?"
The next afternoon, I rushed Emma to the pediatric clinic after her fever spiked to 102. The bright waiting room buzzed with anxious parents and crying children, toys scattered across the carpeted play area.
Emma lay listlessly in my arms, her cheek burning against my shoulder, when I heard a laugh.
Madison stood near the reception desk in a cream Hermès blazer, her daughter Isabella beside her.
Even at the pediatrician's office, they looked like they'd stepped out of a magazine.
Isabella's voice carried across the room, sharp and cruel. "Ew, why is that sick girl here? She looks poor."
My arms tightened protectively around Emma.
Madison glanced over, adjusting Isabella's perfectly styled hair. "Darling, lower your voice."
The condescension in her tone made my blood boil. This was the woman my husband was planning to leave us for?
Isabella wrinkled her nose. "Jake makes apps for desperate people who can't find dates."
My heart stopped. She was talking about Jake's app.
Madison's lips curved into a slight smile. "Isabella, that's not quite right. Daddy Jake makes apps for people who need... assistance finding love."
"But you said desperate people pay more money," Isabella insisted.
"Smart investors recognize profitable desperation," Madison murmured, smoothing down her daughter's dress. "Jake's very talented at monetizing loneliness."
"When is Daddy Jake taking us to Hawaii?" Isabella asked, tugging at Madison's blazer.
Madison responded, "Soon, darling. Once he learns to dress properly for my circle."
The room seemed to spin around me. Daddy Jake? Hawaii trips? My husband was already being integrated into their family plans while erasing ours.
"Emma, honey, let's sit over here," I managed, moving to the far corner of the waiting room.
Emma lifted her feverish head. "Mommy, why is that girl being mean?"
I had no answer. How do you explain cruelty to a five-year-old who's never learned to be anything but kind?
In the clinic bathroom, I helped Emma wash her hands, both of us reflected in the harsh fluorescent mirror. Her face was flushed with fever, her eyes glassy with confusion and hurt.
She asked, "Mommy, am I poor? What does 'desperate' mean?"
I knelt down, pulling her into my arms. "You are perfect, sweetheart. Some people just don't know how to be kind."
Emma studied my face with those perceptive brown eyes that reminded me so much of the Jake I used to love. "That girl's mommy was talking about Daddy, wasn't she?"
"I think I might have seen her photo on Dad's computer."
Smart girl. Too smart for her own good sometimes.
My reflection stared back at me - tired, worn down, invisible. But Emma's reflection showed me something else: a little girl who deserved better than a father who was ashamed of her existence.
I said, "I won't let anyone hurt you anymore, baby. Not even your father."
On the drive home, Emma fell asleep in her car seat, exhausted from the fever and the day's events. The California sun streamed through the windshield, but inside the car felt cold and hollow.
At a red light, I pulled out my phone and typed: [I need to schedule a consultation about divorce proceedings. It's urgent.]
My finger hovered over the send button. Once I sent this email to the law office, there would be no going back. No more pretending that Jake might remember who he used to be. No more hoping that Jake would come to his senses.
The light turned green. I hit send.
"I promise you'll never have to be ashamed of who you are again," I whispered to sleeping Emma.
Another text from Jake popped up: [Important investor meeting tonight. Won't be home for dinner.]
I stared at the message for a long moment, then deleted it without responding. From today forward, his lies were his own business.
Jake chose his path. Now I was choosing mine.
I pulled into our garage and sat in the car for a moment, watching Emma sleep in the rearview mirror. Her fevered cheeks were finally cooling, her breathing steady and peaceful.
My phone buzzed - the law office had already read my email.
For the first time in months, I felt something that wasn't exhaustion or heartbreak. It was clarity, sharp and clean as a blade. Jake wanted to chase his Silicon Valley fantasy with Madison? Let him.
But he wouldn't drag Emma through his shame anymore. He wouldn't get to keep us as his dirty little secret while he played prince charming with venture capital royalty.
I reached back and gently touched Emma's face. She stirred slightly but didn't wake.
"We're going to be okay, baby girl," I whispered. "Mommy's going to make sure of it."