When Amy plans for a relaxing day at home, an accidental voicemail alters all she thought she knew about her marriage. Instead of crumbling, she puts on a brave façade, ready to give her husband what he deserves.
Mark and I had been together for six wonderful years. We had known one other for many years, having worked in the same building. But Mark was the building’s Casanova, always dating someone new.
Despite this, when Mark decided to settle down, he chose me. And six years later, we were still in the honeymoon phase.
Or so I thought.
Last weekend, Mark informed me that he needed to go into the workplace.
“I just need to catch up on paperwork, Amy,” he told her. “Maybe I’ll bring everything home, and I can work from here.”
“Do that,” I said. “Nobody wants to be in their office on a Saturday.”
Mark kissed my forehead, promised to bring me Indian food, and ran away.
After a few hours, I thought that Mark had simply become comfy at his desk and would return only when he was finished.
I could not complain. I wanted to curl up with a book and some tea. Saturdays were for self-care, and this was the new lesson I intended to live by.
My phone buzzed around a chapter into my book, which I initially overlooked until I saw Tom’s name flash on the screen. Tom, my husband’s best friend, was like family to us, so his message immediately caught my attention.
“Hi,” Tom said into the phone. “I’m running a little late for our double date. I’ll be there at around 2 PM, okay? It’s Coachella, right?”
Tom’s normally happy voice resonated through the quiet room.
Confusion clouded my brow.
What double date? I thought.
Mark had not suggested anything much to me. All he said was that he had to work and would attempt to bring his work home so that we could spend the day together.
I replayed the message, hoping I had misunderstood. But instead, there was Tom’s voice, plain as day, talking a double date.
My half-drunk cup of tea and open book remained on my bedside table while I hastily clothed myself. It was almost two p.m. I didn’t want to believe Mark was lying to me.
But why would Tom describe a double date unless it was true? I thought.
The need for answers drove me forward. I needed to see for myself what was happening.
Coachella turned out to be an outdoor restaurant that tried to keep the festival vibe going with loud music and low-hanging decor. It was easy for me to fit in with the surroundings.
I found a discreet position where I could watch the entrance without being seen. The wait was terrible, and the longer I waited there, the more I hoped to see Mark. I ordered a cocktail to soothe my anxieties.
Then Mark strolled in, not alone, as I had imagined, but with a woman draped over his arm. She was striking, clad in designer gear from head to toe, the exact definition of a Gucci mama.
My heart sank.
I observed Mark and his woman walk up to a table almost concealed by hanging plants, where Tom and his wife, Sasha, sat. They both jumped up and embraced the happy couple. The voicemail was intended for Mark only.
I observed them for a bit longer, Mark gazing adoringly at her and gently brushing the back of her neck with his fingers.
Nonetheless, amid a swirl of emotions, a chilly resolve crept over me. This was the time for action, not weeping. I summoned a waiter, my voice calm yet strong.
“The most expensive champagne you have, for that table,” I said, surreptitiously pointing at Mark.
The waiter, feeling the drama, responded with a nod and a tiny smile.
As the champagne arrived at their table, the confusion and forced smiles on their faces represented a little victory. Even over the music and commotion, I could hear Mark’s laughter.
I took a snapshot of them during their faux-celebration and quickly uploaded it online, naming Mark. A few minutes passed, and I continued to sip my martini while waiting.
Mark’s response when he received the notification was priceless. The color drained from his face as he frantically searched the room, still unable to find me. Desperate, he attempted to phone me. I watched my phone ring, distant, while his calls remained unanswered.
I summoned the waiter over again and asked for a piece of paper and another bottle of champagne.
Cheers to a fantastic double date and our divorce! I wrote and signed off at the bottom.
I left the restaurant feeling hurt and misled, my temporary bravery fading.
Mark arrived home that evening and packed his belongings, stating that he was going to Tom’s place. He apologized and explained that he was only having fun. Apparently, he wanted to blow off steam from work stress.
It’s been a week since we last spoke. But I believe it is time for me to file the divorce papers.
If you were in my situation, what would you have done?
