Becoming My Ex-husband’s Mistress

Chapter Nine

I arrive at the coffee shop with my bag and laptop in hand. I recovered an old dusty sketchbook from the basement at my parents’ and decided to try doing something today.

I order an iced latte and find a table by the window. Picking up my pencil, the lawyer’s voice immediately rings in my head. “You should avoid starting any major projects or designs to avoid further losses.”

He took my life and still managed to take what makes me me—Designing.

I pick up the pencil anyway. I start with a few strokes and before I know it, I’ve spent over four hours in the coffee shop. The dress sketch I come up with, although imperfect, brings a calmness I haven’t felt in a while.

A waiter comes up politely asking me to order something else or give up my table as they have reservations. I apologize and pack up my things. I head home since mom volunteered to pick up Mia.

Back at home I research the course Nora mentioned. I find it within minutes. I fill in the necessary forms and by evening I’ve already applied for their two year program.

I text Nora to let her know and she calls back almost immediately.

“I’m glad you did. Now you just need accommodation,” she says, dragging the last word.

I almost forgot about that. Whitmore is about fifteen miles from my parents’ home. Driving there every day isn’t very realistic.

“I totally forgot about that,” I say.

“I have a spare room and I don’t mind hosting you.” She says it carefully, like she’s unsure how I’ll take it.

I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “No. Thank you, but I’ll figure something out.”

“I’m just letting you know you have a second option, that’s all.”

I smile and say a small thank you. We talk for a few more minutes before Mia walks in and I hang up.

She climbs onto the bed and immediately spots the sketchbook on the nightstand. Before I can say anything, she reaches for it.

“Gently,” I say.

She opens it to the dress and makes a face like she’s thinking.

“Mommy, did you draw this?” For some reason, the question makes me nervous.

“Yes baby. I did.”

She looks up at me then back down at it. “I want this dress.”

“You do?”

“Yes I do. I like it,” she says, nodding frantically, unable to contain her excitement. “For my birthday. I want it in pink.”

I take the book from her carefully and look at it myself. This isn’t what I’ll consider my best work. A few years ago, I’d probably throw it away.

“We’ll see,” I smile. “By the way Mia.”

“Yes, mommy,”

“I need to tell you something.”

She straightens immediately, sensing my seriousness. She folds her hands in her lap, a habit she picked up from my father, and looks at me.

“I’m going back to school,” I say.

Her eyes go wide. “You’re going to my school?”

“A bigger school. For grown ups.” I pause. “It’s a little far from here so I’m going to be staying somewhere else for a while.”

She processes the news. “How long is a while?”

“Two years.”

Her face scrunches up.

“But you’re coming to me every weekend,” I say before she can ask, or complain. “Every single one. And I’ll call you every day.”

“Every day?”

“Every day.”

She looks at her hands. “What about Grandma and Grandpa?”

“You’ll be staying here with them on weekdays. So you’ll see them every day too.”

She thinks about it for a long moment before nodding.

“Okay,” she says finally.

I pull her into a hug and she lets me, her small arms coming around my neck.

Then, out of nowhere, she says, “Mommy, I miss Daddy.”

I look at her, trying not to let the smile vanish from my face.

“Can I see him?”

I stay quiet for a moment. “I’ll call him to ask,” I say.

I step into the hallway and dial his number. It rings three times before he picks up.

“Claire.” He says in a neutral tone.

“Mia wants to see you. I can send her over this weekend.”

He pauses. I hear movement in the background, then Isabelle’s voice, low and indistinct. Then Grant again.

“Yeah, that’s fine, you can send her.”

“That’s good. I also want us to move forward with the divorce. I want everything finalized as soon as possible.”

There’s another pause. I hear Isabelle’s voice again, a little clearer but still not words I can make out.

“That’s fine,” he says. “Yes, we can do that.”

I’m about to hang up when he speaks again.

“Claire?” He says. More like asks. “Just— explain to Mia that she needs to be on her best behavior when she’s here. Isabelle is pregnant and I don’t want her getting stressed out.”

It’s as if a bucket of cold water is poured on me. I stand there with the phone against my ear and say nothing.

“I’ll let you know what time to expect her,” I finally say and hang up.

I stand there a moment, trying to gather my thoughts, then push the door open. Mia looks up at me eagerly.

“Daddy says yes,” I tell her.

She grins, happily jumping on the bed.

I sit back on the bed and keep smiling, and I don’t let her see a single thing.