Divorce After His Affair

The doorbell rang as I was preparing dinner—Brandon's favorite pasta, the one I'd perfected over years of marriage. I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel and headed for the door, expecting the organic produce delivery I'd scheduled.

"Mrs. Shaw?" The delivery man balanced a small box in one hand and a tablet in the other. "Special delivery for this address."

I frowned. "I didn't order anything."

"It's addressed to this residence, ma'am." He handed me the elegantly wrapped box with a cream-colored envelope attached. "Just need your signature."

After signing, I examined the package. The wrapping paper was from Cartier—Brandon must have ordered something. Perhaps he remembered our anniversary after all? A flicker of hope warmed my chest. Five years of marriage, and lately, he'd been so distant, so preoccupied.

I opened the envelope first, my fingers trembling slightly with anticipation.

*To my darling P,*

*You make every day worth living.*

*Yours always, B*

My world tilted. P? I wasn't P. I was Laura—his wife, his partner, the woman who'd stood beside him when he had nothing.

With shaking hands, I opened the box. Inside nestled an exquisite diamond bracelet, delicate and obviously expensive. The kind of gift I hadn't received from Brandon in years.

P. The letter could only mean Paisley Reed, his assistant. The woman who'd been working late with him for months now. The woman whose name he mentioned more often than mine.

I sank to the floor, the box clutched in my hand, the note crumpled in the other. The pasta water boiled over on the stove, but I couldn't move. Five years of hunger strikes to support his career ambitions. Five years of planning my life around his needs. Five years of believing he would love me forever.

All for this.

---

The next day, I waited until Brandon left for his "business dinner" before following him in my car. My mother's voice echoed in my head—the memory of her tears before she took her own life after my father's infidelity. "Never let a man make you feel worthless," she'd told me in our last conversation. I hadn't understood then. I did now.

Brandon's car pulled up to a downtown apartment building—not a restaurant. I waited fifteen minutes before entering, finding the apartment number from the building directory. Brandon Shaw and Paisley Reed, 5B. They hadn't even bothered to hide it.

I used my spare key—the one Brandon didn't know I had copied when he "lost" his original. The door opened silently to reveal my husband and his assistant entwined on a gray sectional sofa—the one I'd helped him select for his "office space."

"Comfortable?" My voice sounded strange, hollow.

Brandon jumped up, his shirt unbuttoned. Paisley remained sprawled on the couch, her lipstick smeared but a smirk firmly in place.

"Laura." Brandon's voice held no guilt, only annoyance. "What are you doing here?"

I held up the jewelry box. "Your delivery came to the wrong address."

Something flickered in his eyes—not remorse, but