For thirty years, I've been the perfect Mrs. Morrison. Until that night when I heard my son Dylan publicly humiliate Della at the Country Club—the orphan I rescued ten years ago, who's become more of a daughter to me than my own son ever was.
"This is what happens when you adopt stray cats," he said.
When I waited for my husband Theo to defend us, he coldly replied: "Divorce it is, then. I'm tired of settling anyway."
In that moment, Della and I made the same decision: divorce.
The 54-year-old me and 29-year-old her left the Morrison mansion with four suitcases, moving into a lakeside cabin. The men thought we'd come crawling back within days—after all, we were just two women "without financial resources."
But when we started investigating the family finances, we discovered $150,000 in mysterious expenses. All flowing to one woman—Theo's college classmate, Becca Sterling.
Cancer treatment I could understand, but when I overheard what Theo said to her at the hospital... I realized I didn't know the man I'd shared a bed with for thirty years.

My Daughter-in-Law and I Got Divorced Together

My phone had been buzzing all night. Missed calls, text messages, voicemails. I'd turned it off around midnight, but Della's phone was still going.
"Mrs. Henderson called three times," Della reported. "The mayor's wife, Carol from the Club, even your dentist's office."
"What are they saying?"
"Mi...

Chapter 8