When She Asked for Half My Husband, I Left

Chapter 1

Once my best friend moved next door, she insisted on splitting literally everything down the middle.

Half my home-cooked meals went to her, all our household appliances were for shared use, and I even added her to my bank card's family plan so she could spend money from my account whenever she wanted.

My husband, Stephen Gray, was fed up with how much of my time she hogged, but I forced him to put up with it.

Then came our wedding anniversary. I tried calling and texting Stephen over and over, but I couldn't get ahold of him at all.

I was scrolling through my best friend's i********: feed when I came across a bungee jumping photo she'd posted.

The hands of the man holding her in the photo looked really familiar. I barely had time to process what I was looking at before she deleted the post in a split second, almost as soon as it went up.

But I'd already recognized those hands. That was Stephen.

Her so-called "mysterious boyfriend" was my own husband.

I blew up completely, letting all my rage boil over in a huge screaming fight. I forced Stephen to sign the divorce papers right after.

A few months later, my best friend showed up at my door. There was blood crusted on her face, and she held out a gift box toward me.

A sickly, desperate glimmer of hope glinted in her eyes."We share everything, don't we? Why don't we split the guy fifty-fifty, okay?"

*****

I'd taken the day off work to cook a huge feast for our wedding anniversary. But Stephen wouldn't pick up his phone, no matter how many times I called.

I rang his office instead, and his secretary told me he'd left hours ago. I was about to vent to my best friend about it when I accidentally tapped into her i********: profile and saw that photo of her bungee jumping with her mystery boyfriend.

The man holding her had a mole on his hand that I'd seen just that morning. It was Stephen. My brain started buzzing so loud I could barely hear anything else.

The post vanished right before my eyes just a second later.

A voice note from Emma popped up immediately after. "Angelica, you didn't just scroll through i********:, did you?"

I let out a cold, bitter laugh. "What kind of skeletons are you hiding that you're so scared I'll see them?"

The background on her end was so loud she didn't seem to hear me. "I hung out with my boyfriend all day and we did so much stuff, I'm exhausted. He just wouldn't take it easy on me," she whined, her voice oozing with cloying, fake sweetness.

I forced down the rage bubbling up in my throat. "You've always had so many food allergies. Remember that year you had a mango allergy and spiked a fever? We couldn't get a taxi late at night, so I carried you all the way to the hospital. The doctor said if I'd been even a few minutes later, you would've developed pneumonia. When you woke up, you said your life was mine, and you'd never betray me for as long as you lived. Do you remember that?"

Emma looked unfazed as she replied, "That was ages ago, who even remembers stuff like that? Quit digging up old memories, I'm starving. Make me something good to eat, yeah? Just make short ribs, okay? I'm heading over. Make extra, Stephen loves that too."

"I just dropped off braised pork for you yesterday, didn't I?" I asked her. "And how do you know he isn't home right now?"

"Oh, just a guess! He's Mr. Stick-to-the-Rules, right? He never leaves work early."

I tugged the corner of my mouth up in a bitter, empty smile.

Stephen really was a man of principle who never left work early. Once, when my dad got sick, I begged him to drive me to the airport, and he turned me down flat, saying he couldn't just take time off for no reason on principle.

I missed my flight, and my dad passed away in the ER before I could get there. I never got to say goodbye to him. That's the biggest regret of my entire life.

But when it came to Emma? Every last one of those so-called principles flew right out the window.

Emma had bragged about her boyfriend to me more times than I could count, gushing about how he took time off in the middle of the workweek to take her out. She'd even gotten a formal warning from her boss for ditching work too many times to hang out with him.

I'd tried to talk sense into her back then, pointing out how brutal the job market was that time, and that it was at least smart to keep a steady income stream going.

She'd just grinned and chirped, "No worries! My man's gonna take care of me, duh."

Stephen had been right there at the time. He'd scoffed when he heard what she said, leaning in to murmur in my ear. "Freeloader."

I'd shot him a sharp glare. When he saw I was annoyed, he'd immediately backtracked, cooing that he loved how driven and career-focused I was.

Turns out they'd already been seeing each other behind my back back then. That little jab he'd made? Just their messed-up version of foreplay.

"I'm literally starving out here!" Emma whined over the line. "All the takeout around is so greasy, I need your cooking!"

"Sure thing," I said, my gaze ice-cold as it fell on the still-warm plate of braised pork sitting on the dining table. "I've got a little surprise waiting for you. Hurry on back."

I hung up the call. I lifted the plate in my hand, my first impulse to hurl it across the room and smash this whole stupid feast to pieces. But then I thought about how I'd slaved over this spread all morning. No way I was wasting all that effort.

I shoveled huge mouthfuls of the food I'd made into my mouth. It tasted amazing, too. But halfway through, tears started spilling down my cheeks, mixing with the dish. The bitter-salty taste of that tear-soaked food would stick with me forever.

I ate until I was full to bursting. I had a brutal showdown coming that afternoon, and I needed the fuel.

I wasn't some doormat they could walk all over. I'd make them pay for every last thing they'd done.

My phone pinged. It was a voice message from Stephen.