The fourth night blurred into the fifth, and then, suddenly, I was back in my clothes, standing outside like nothing had happened. My phone buzzed with James’s messages, but I felt nothing.
He had finally filed for divorce. Good for him.
That afternoon a driver came to fetch me. James had “reported” me to his parents. I almost laughed; the man who’d been running around impregnating strangers was suddenly the victim, reminding me that this was a man's world. I went anyway, wanting to see the performance and what his parents had to say.
Their house smelled of money and old perfume. James’s mother sat stiff and regal, pearls at her throat, a look of polite disgust in her eyes. His father didn’t bother hiding his contempt. James lounged in a corner like the wronged saint he was pretending
