Divorcing the CEO Who Publicly Picked His Mistress

On our wedding anniversary, I received a notification about the theater tickets I'd booked. Then Miguel Chavez called, his voice flat, "Got a surprise for you! See you later!"

I couldn't help but get excited and put on my best makeup. But I waited and waited, until the film ended, and he never showed up. Later, I saw a post from his first love on Facebook. It was a picture of Miguel busy in the kitchen. The caption read, “Even though we couldn't make it to the theater, at least someone knows how to make up for it!”

Turns out he was with her again. In the past, I would've exploded with questions, but this time, I didn't want to make a scene. I was exhausted.

In the cold of November, I stood at the now-closed theater, my nose bright red from the chill. Miguel still hadn't come. I wanted to catch a cab home, but my phone battery had died early on. Resigned, I decided to walk back, but as soon as I started down the stairs, I slipped and twisted my back with a painful snap. Tears instantly flooded my face. When it rains, it pours. I tried to calm myself, but the pain was too much, and the tears wouldn't stop. Later, a delivery guy helped me call an ambulance, temporarily rescuing me from my predicament.

When my phone finally charged, I saw messages from Miguel. “Selena Reed, do you know what time it is and you're still not home?” “Out having too much fun, are we?” “If you don’t come back, don’t bother coming back!” He mostly criticized me for being out late. But he forgot that he was the one who said he'd take me to a film, which was why I waited for him in the cold so long—from the movie’s start until it ended, then until the theater closed, and into the early hours.

I didn’t reply to his messages but instead checked Facebook. There, I saw Isabelle Wagner's post again—a picture of Miguel in the kitchen, still busy. The caption read, “Even though we couldn't make it to the theater, at least someone knows how to make up for it!” So he was with her again. In the past, I would've gone mad questioning him, but this time, I just didn’t have the energy for the drama. I was worn out.

I put the phone aside and closed my eyes to sleep. I don’t know how much time passed, but Miguel called again, this time with an impatient edge, “Selena Reed! Where are you now?” “Playing so much you don't even care about work?”

Rubbing my sore eyes, I croaked, “I'm in the hospital. I slipped and twisted my back outside the theater last night.” Miguel was silent for a moment, then he spoke again, his tone no longer harsh but still detached, “Well, get some rest. I got busy yesterday and forgot... When you’re better, we’ll go watch the film together.”