Chapter 5
"I want a divorce."
I called Jane the next morning before I'd even had my coffee. She was probably still in bed, but I couldn't wait another minute to say the words out loud.
"What?" Jane's voice was groggy, confused. "Sophia, are you serious? What happened?"
"Marcus is cheating on me."
"But wait, isn't he at that emergency consultation? The one with Dr. Peterson?"
I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "He's doing academic research with his girlfriend."
Silence on the other end. I could practically hear Jane's brain trying to process what I'd just told her.
"Okay, back up. You're saying Marcus is having an affair, and the emergency consultation story is fake? How do you know?"
I opened Instagram on my phone, found Emma's latest story, and screenshot it. "I'm sending you something."
The photo showed Marcus walking through what looked like a university campus, laptop bag slung over one shoulder, Emma's hand tucked into the crook of his other arm. Her caption read: "Academic adventure with my favorite research partner! 📚💕"
"I followed her on a whim yesterday," I told Jane. "Didn't think she'd actually accept the request, but she did. Either she doesn't know who I am, or she doesn't care."
"Jesus, Sophia." Jane's voice was fully awake now. "When is Marcus supposed to be back?"
"Three days. Can you have divorce papers ready by then?"
"I'll draft them myself." Jane's tone had shifted into lawyer mode. "Don't tell Tom about this yet, okay?"
Jane was married to Tom, one of Marcus's colleagues from the VA hospital. I'd met her through Marcus originally, but over the years we'd become close friends. Sometimes the best relationships come from the most unexpected places.
"I won't say anything," I promised. "Actually..." Jane hesitated, like she wanted to tell me something but thought better of it. "Never mind. We'll talk later. How are you holding up? Do you want me to come over?"
I glanced at my watch and sighed. "I can't. I have a ten o'clock flight to Chicago. APA conference. I'm giving a keynote."
That's the thing about being an adult. Your world can fall apart, but you still have to show up for work. You still have to honor your professional commitments, even when your personal life is imploding.
I gave Jane everything I'd gathered. Photos from Marcus's phone, screenshots of the money transfers, GPS history from his car. The evidence painted a pretty clear picture of deception and financial impropriety.
"At least you don't have kids," Jane said, scrolling through the materials. "That makes things simpler from a legal standpoint."
"Small mercies," I agreed.
By the time I got back from Chicago three days later, Jane had the divorce agreement ready. We met at her office downtown, the city skyline spread out behind her desk like a promise of new beginnings.
"Even though he's clearly at fault, we can't expect him to walk away with nothing," she explained, sliding the papers across her desk. "But I can get you a favorable settlement. And those payments to the grad student? We can argue those were misappropriated marital assets."
I opened my mouth to object, but Jane cut me off.
"Don't even think about being generous. He made choices, and choices have consequences. He spent your money on his affair. You're entitled to compensation for that."
I hugged her tight. "Thank you. For everything."
"That's what friends are for. Besides, it's just a divorce. I'll be with you every step of the way."
That night, Jane came over with two bottles of wine. We sat on my living room floor, drinking and talking until the early hours. About the past, about the future, about the dreams we'd had and the ones we'd given up. About the price of crossing professional boundaries and the cost of loving someone who couldn't love you back the way you deserved.
"I should have seen this coming," I said, refilling our glasses. "I'm a psychologist, for God's sake. I help people recognize unhealthy relationship patterns for a living."
"Sometimes we're too close to see clearly," Jane replied. "That's why therapists need their own therapists."
We drank until we passed out on the carpet, empty bottles scattered around us like casualties of war.
I woke up to my alarm the next morning, head pounding but mind clear. I called in sick to work, applied some concealer to hide the evidence of my breakdown, and got dressed.
It was time to face Marcus.
Thanks to Emma's social media addiction, I'd been able to track their entire trip. Academic conferences by day, romantic dinners by night. They'd attended a couples therapy workshop, a trauma research symposium, and something called "The Psychology of Modern Romance" panel discussion.
All the academic events I'd never gone to with Marcus. He'd asked me to attend conferences with him before, especially when he was presenting research. He'd even suggested we co-author a paper about therapeutic relationships and their outcomes.
"It would be romantic," he'd said. "We could present our own case study."
But I'd always refused. It felt too much like exploiting our relationship for professional gain, too close to the ethical lines I'd already crossed. Now I wondered if those refusals had been the beginning of the end for us.
Maybe we'd been incompatible from the start. Marcus loved experimental psychology, hands-on research, the excitement of academic discovery. I was more comfortable in clinical practice, working one-on-one with patients, avoiding the spotlight of conferences and publications.
When we were falling in love, we'd told ourselves that our differences complemented each other. Now I could see they'd just been fault lines waiting to crack open.
Marcus's flight was scheduled to land at 2:15 PM. I got to the airport early, positioning myself where I could see the arrivals gate without being immediately visible.
He emerged from the jetway looking tired but relaxed, sunglasses pushed up on his head, wearing the casual clothes that meant he'd left his professional persona behind for the weekend. Emma was beside him, practically bouncing with excitement, her hand tucked possessively through his arm.
"We should definitely submit that proposal," she was saying as they walked past me. "I think we have a real shot at getting published if we frame it right."
They looked like what we'd never been: academic partners, intellectual equals, two people excited about the same things.
They looked happy.
"Marcus."
He stopped dead when he heard my voice, his whole body going rigid. Emma kept talking for a few seconds before she realized he was no longer listening.