My Husband Chose His Mistress While I Was Dying

I got home early from my board meeting around two in the afternoon. The house was quiet. In ten years of marriage, Trevor and I had built a clean, orderly life in Manhattan. Or so I thought.

I dropped my keys on the console table and went into the kitchen. I started wiping down the marble island. That was when I saw a folded scrap of paper tucked under the fruit bowl.

It was a handwritten grocery list. In Trevor’s neat, slanted handwriting.

*Fresh ginger. Lemongrass. Prime oxtail. Baby bok choy.*

I frowned. Trevor didn’t cook. In ten years, he had never once made me a meal. Not even on my birthday. He always said the kitchen confused him. He said boiling water was too much work.

My chest felt tight. I walked over to the pantry and opened it. Behind a tall box of paper towels sat a reusable canvas tote. Inside lay a receipt from two days ago. It was stamped with the address of Market on 5th—the gourmet grocery directly beneath Trevor's office tower.

I left the house immediately. I didn't even change out of my suit.

I drove straight to his firm. The executive floor was silent when I stepped off the private elevator. I pushed open the heavy oak door to Trevor’s suite.

A rich, savory smell hit me first. The warm scent of simmered ginger and beef broth. I peeked into his private kitchenette. On the small induction burner, a stainless steel pot was simmering on low heat.

Then I turned toward his desk.

A young woman was sitting in Trevor’s leather executive chair.

Sienna Munoz. His junior assistant.

She looked up at me. She was twenty-two, with dark wavy hair and big, soft eyes. People at company parties had whispered that she looked like me back in college. But today, she didn't look timid at all. Her legs were crossed comfortably. She held a porcelain spoon in one hand.

Around her neck hung a delicate gold chain with a tiny diamond pendant.

My necklace. The one that went missing from my jewelry box three weeks ago.

Sienna didn’t stand up. She didn't drop the spoon. She just held my gaze with a calm, patient look, like she had been waiting for me.

The door clicked open behind me. Trevor walked in carrying a leather folder.

He saw me standing there. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t drop his papers or look guilty. He just closed the door, walked over, and perched casually on the edge of his mahogany desk.

"Violet," he said. His voice was smooth and even. "You're early."

My throat felt dry. "Trevor. What is this?"

He glanced at Sienna, then back at me. His face was completely relaxed, like he was discussing a routine vendor contract.

"I was going to tell you tonight," he said. "Sienna is pregnant. It's mine."

The floor felt unsteady beneath my heels. The air vanished from my lungs.

"She’s having my baby, Violet," Trevor continued. "I need her in my life. She reminds me of how you used to be. Back when you were soft. Before the business made you so cold."

I couldn't speak. I could only stare.

"Listen to me," he said, using that calm, reasonable tone he always used to get his way. "We don't need a mess. We don't need a public divorce. You can’t have children. We both know that. But Sienna can. So here is what we do. She moves into the guest wing. We raise the child together. It's the only reasonable solution to our problem."

A reasonable solution.

My hands started to shake. I dug my thumbnail hard into my palm, fighting to keep my feet on the floor.

"Do you remember the lake, Trevor?" I whispered.

His jaw tightened. The calm mask slipped, replaced by an ugly, sharp scowl.

"That was ten years ago, Violet," he snapped. "The past is the past. Stop holding that over my head every time we have an issue."

I looked at him. Really looked at him.

Ten years ago, the ice on that lake had cracked. He had fallen into black, freezing water. I had jumped in after him without a second thought. I dragged him to the shore with my bare hands. The hypothermia and trauma destroyed my body. It left me infertile. I gave up my chance to ever carry a child so that his heart would keep beating.

And now, he looked at me like I was just an inconvenience.

I didn't yell. I didn't scream or slap him.

I simply turned around and walked out of the room.

I rode the elevator down in total silence. In the dim underground garage, I got into my car and locked the doors. Then the tremors hit me. My whole body shook so hard my teeth clattered. I gripped the steering wheel and pressed my forehead against the leather. It took twenty minutes of ragged breathing before my hands stopped trembling enough to start the engine.

On the drive home, I pulled into a drugstore parking lot.

I walked inside and bought a cheap prepaid flip phone with cash.

Back in my car under the buzzing fluorescent streetlights, I tore open the plastic packaging. My fingers moved fast. I dialed a number I knew by heart.

Daniel Carr picked up on the second ring.

"Violet? Who is this? Why are you calling from an unknown number?"

"Daniel," I said. My voice was flat. Quiet. Steady. "I need a favor."

"Anything. What's wrong?"

"I need a quiet, private valuation of my shares in the company," I said. "And I need you to draw up preliminary paperwork for a sale. Don't tell Trevor. Don't tell the board."

There was a long silence on the other end. Daniel was smart. He knew better than to ask questions I wasn't ready to answer.

"How fast do you need it?" he asked softly.

"As fast as you can," I replied, staring out at the dark street. "I'm getting out."