After I Let My Cheating Husband Go, He Regretted It

Chapter 2 Please Leave

Marina's POV:

Raymond stared at my signature as though he no longer recognized the letters. "Marina, are you serious?"

"Want me to sign it again?"

He didn't answer. He read through the papers again. I'd inherited this house from my mother before we married, so it stayed mine. We'd split the savings equally. I wasn't going to fight him over the rest. I had savings of my own, and the money my mother left me brought in some income every year. It would be more than enough for me to live on alone.

Once Raymond had checked how the money and the house were split, his frown disappeared. He picked up a pen and signed. "I'll have the lawyer finish the rest as soon as possible."

I nodded. "Get your things out as soon as possible too."

Only then did Justin pour me my first glass of wine that evening. "Mom, I'm glad you've come around. We're still a family, after all."

Erica had already taken out her phone and was eagerly messaging Camille. "Let's have her over next weekend. Mom, she loves oysters. Remember to pick up some fresh ones from that seafood place by the harbor."

I looked at her. She was smiling at her screen and didn't even look up. I waited a moment before saying coldly, "Dinner's over. Time for all of you to go."

Her fingers stopped moving, and her smile vanished. When Raymond realized I meant him too, his frown deepened. "I still have papers to grade tonight."

"Take them to a hotel and grade them there."

Justin put down his glass. "Mom, do you really have to make this so ugly—"

I was already at the door, holding out his coat. "After you."

Twenty minutes later, the house was finally quiet. I leaned back in my chair, and the tension drained from my shoulders. I opened the bottle of red wine Raymond had always been saving, poured myself a generous glass, and went back to my dinner.

The chicken was delicious. The mashed potatoes weren't too salty at all. After a slice of apple pie, I left the dishes where they were and went straight upstairs to bed.

That night, there was no snoring. No one woke me at 1:00 a.m. and ordered me downstairs to get a glass of water. I slept until sunlight fell across my pillow, then slowly opened my eyes.

I put on sneakers and walked around the neighborhood. At this hour, I would normally have been making breakfast for my husband. I had never had time to look closely at the trees lining the road.

In my previous life, after Raymond became paralyzed, he would ring his bell every day at 4:00 a.m. I would turn him over, clean him, change his adult diaper, and give him his medication. Once I had finished, I still had to rush to Justin's house to pick up my grandson, then run over to Erica's apartment to do her laundry. It was often afternoon before I remembered I hadn't eaten. In the evening, I'd go home to bathe Raymond and give him his medicine again. Day after day, even with a fever, I had to drag myself out of bed. Nobody ever offered to help care for him.

When I got back from my walk, I fried myself an egg, sunny-side up, toasted some bread, and made coffee. Someone walked a dog past the window. I stood there with my cup and watched for a long while before going upstairs to clear out the closet.

I packed all of Raymond's clothes into boxes and had them delivered to his office. More than half the closet was empty. What remained were my own old clothes, their colors faded from countless washings, their styles long out of date. Whenever I had wanted to buy something new, he would frown. "My students are struggling to pay their tuition, and you want to wear designer clothes to faculty gatherings?" Eventually, I stopped asking. I had worn the same wool coat for 11 years, and my boots had been resoled four times.

Yet in my previous life, when Camille got engaged, he had given her a $140,000 sports car. A card attached to the keys read:

I hope you'll always be happy.

My fingertip slipped through the frayed cuff. This time, I didn't reach for a needle and thread. I put the coat in the donation bag.

That afternoon, I went to Marlowe Avenue. A deep red dress in a store window stopped me in my tracks. After admiring it for a long moment, I finally went inside. "Could I try on that red dress in the window?"

The sales associate had just handed it to me when a familiar voice came from behind me. "Mrs. Emerson? What a coincidence."

Camille stood in the doorway in a cream-colored suit, with Justin and Erica behind her, each carrying several shopping bags. The moment they saw me, both of them stopped smiling. A second later, they looked away as if nothing had happened.

Justin was willing to buy bags full of designer stuff for her, yet all he had brought me were three pints of moldy strawberries.