My husband was sobbing his heart out at my best friend’s wedding. My best friend, Chloe, was so rattled she rushed over to clarify. “Avery, I swear, your husband and I? We are not a thing! We’ve never been a thing!” Fueled by alcohol, my husband, Dean, slammed his hand on a table in the reception hall, pointed a finger at me, and bellowed. “Avery Harrison! I want a divorce!” Every guest instantly looked at Chloe’s husband, who instinctively reached up to feel the top of his head for imaginary cuckold horns. “What, did your girlfriend dump you?” Chloe’s husband muttered, confused. Of course, I knew exactly why Dean was having a public meltdown today. The woman he was sleeping with—the woman he claimed was his soulmate—was getting married right now, just down the hall in the ballroom next door. 1 I’d seen their texts. I’d read every single one. Savannah: Dean, I’m getting married tomorrow. Will you be there? Savannah: No, you shouldn’t come. I’m scared I’ll see you and won’t be able to stop myself from running away with you. But I know you’d never divorce her for me. Savannah: If there’s a next life, I promise I’ll find you first. I’ll hold you when you’re in pain and tell you I love you. Savannah: I love you, Dean! Then, she’d blocked him. Dean kept frantically sending messages into the void, knowing full well she couldn’t see them. Dean: Babe, I love you too!! I love you!! I love you more than anyone! Dean: But I owe her, Savannah. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I don’t love her anymore. All I feel is guilt! Dean: Can you just wait for me a little longer? I love you so much. I love you, I love you. Dean: If I came and crashed your wedding tomorrow, would you run away with me? Such deep, passionate love. A tragedy for the ages. It almost made me feel like the Wicked Witch of the West, the old crone keeping the star-crossed lovers apart. At my best friend’s reception, Dean was throwing off all pretense, ripping the veil off our life, and demanding a divorce. He was willing to lose his dignity; I was happy to oblige. All our mutual friends looked at him with sympathy. They patted his shoulder. “Hey, Dean, you’ve put up with Avery’s… diva attitude for years. Just talk to her. Make her change. Divorce is too harsh, buddy.” Chloe, ever the mediator, also stepped in, her smile strained. “What did Avery do? I’ll make her apologize. You’re a grown man, Dean. You must be deeply hurt to be crying like this.” Chloe’s husband, now certain his marriage was safe, joined in. “Seriously, man, this is my wedding. Show some respect. Don’t blow up your life on my dime.” Only a completely unhinged person would announce a divorce at someone else’s wedding. The fact that Chloe’s family hadn’t physically thrown him out was a testament to their restraint. But Dean had already chosen his path. “It has to happen today! I’m divorcing you! Avery, I’m sick of you! The thought of spending the rest of my life with someone like you makes me sick!” He drove the knife in deep. He clearly wanted no turning back. He wanted a divorce, and he was determined to drown me in his filth while doing it. He thought I was clueless. Chloe nudged my arm. “What did you do to him? Why is he so furious? Go mollify him, Avery. He looks serious.” Even my closest friend thought I was the problem. Everyone in the room was urging me to apologize, assuming my high-maintenance attitude had finally pushed the poor man over the edge. I was an only child. I’d grown up pampered, and yes, I had an entitled streak. I knew it. But over the years, I’d consciously scaled back my temper, especially with Dean. I remembered when my father warned Dean, “My daughter has a difficult, demanding personality. Please be patient with her.” And Dean’s response? “Avery is perfect! A little attitude? Who cares? If she didn’t have a single flaw, I’d never have a chance with her! Besides, I think Avery has a great temperament!” Now, Dean’s main reason for divorce was my temper—I was too strong, too bossy, and suffocating him. Once the love is gone, the virtues that once charmed them become the fatal flaws. The first time Dean mentioned divorce, I was completely blindsided. One moment, we were wrapped up in a tender, morning embrace, the next, he was on the phone, and suddenly, he said, “Avery, I think we need to talk.” I sat up, pulling the duvet around me, and looked up at him. “Talk about what? Our weekend trip? I booked us a lovely boutique hotel upstate. I even did all the research on the best vineyards. Isn’t that great? I’m so organized!” I waited for the praise I was sure would follow. Dean stared at me for a long time. Then he said, “I want a divorce. I’m exhausted being with you. Avery, even in a marriage, there has to be a boundary. I need my own space. I want to spend a weekend alone sometimes. We don’t have to do everything together.” “Your temper is awful, and I’m always the one accommodating you. But have you ever thought about my feelings? I get angry too. I need to vent. I need to be accommodated sometimes.” 2 I spent those next few months in a constant state of self-doubt. I thought that by dedicating all my free time to my partner, he would be happy and appreciate it. I loved him, and I wanted him by my side every second. Didn’t he feel the same? I reached out to every relationship guru and therapist online. Do couples need boundaries? The universal answer: Yes. I started taking online emotional intelligence courses, studying the science of marriage, and how to manage a modern relationship. Dean said I wasn’t accommodating him, so I reined in my temper and focused on being his supportive partner. I’d gently ask if he was stressed at work or facing any challenges. I hoped he’d open up. I was ready to be his confidante. But every time, he’d respond with, “It’s work stuff. You wouldn’t understand.” He grew increasingly impatient, while my temperament grew steadily calmer. I even learned to cook. Following the advice of the gurus, I worked on the principle that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. To save our relationship, I immediately quit my high-powered, demanding job, determined to be his perfect homemaker and supportive wife. For a while, Dean seemed to warm up again. Our relationship appeared to shift back to how it used to be. I was convinced my choices were correct. Until I found a small emerald earring tucked into the lining of his overnight bag. It sparked the most explosive fight we’d ever had. I screamed, demanding to know why there was a woman’s earring in his luggage. “You want a divorce because you’re cheating on me, don’t you?” I was hysterical. Dean’s voice was louder than mine, full of a raging defensiveness that made him look like the victim. “I work myself to the bone to provide for this family! And you’re accusing me of cheating because of an earring?! That’s disgusting, Avery!” His righteous fury was so overwhelming that the red-hot anger draining out of me was replaced by a cold dread. Right in front of me, he called his subordinate. “Savannah!! Why was an earring in my suitcase! You need to explain this to my wife right now!!” Savannah was Dean’s assistant. She’d been at the company for two years. Everyone knew Savannah had a handsome fiancé, Wyatt, and that they were getting married soon. Wyatt was a partner at one of Dean’s major client firms. Because of that existing relationship, Dean often took Savannah on business trips. No one, including me, had ever suspected a thing. It was perfectly normal for Dean to look out for his assistant, especially since she was part of the client network. Savannah and Wyatt came over that evening. “Oh my God, I am so, so sorry, Avery,” Savannah gushed, a picture of distress. “It’s my earring. I must have dropped it when I was helping Dean pack for his last trip. I am truly mortified that I caused this misunderstanding!” Wyatt quickly backed her up. “My fiancée was just complaining about losing the earring this afternoon. I immediately ordered her a replacement. Mrs. Harrison, I can show you the order confirmation right here.” The date on the order was indeed before Dean and I had our fight. I was mortified, completely at a loss for words. I glanced at Dean. Dean flipped the coffee table over. “This is ridiculous! You need to take a long, hard look at yourself, Avery!” He stormed out of the apartment. Wyatt rushed after him. “Dean, man, slow down! Don’t take this out on Avery. It was Savannah’s mistake. Let me buy you a drink. I apologize for her.” I didn’t see the flicker of smug satisfaction in Savannah’s eyes then. I only felt like a foolish puppet she’d manipulated. “I am so embarrassed,” I mumbled, apologizing to her. “I’m so sensitive.” I barely registered the faint note of mockery in her voice. “That’s what happens to wives, Avery. You focus all your energy on your husband, and you start overthinking everything.” “It’s normal to worry, though,” she added with a saccharine smile. “Dean is so exceptional.” Maybe I did hear the taunt. But feeling guilty, I just offered a sheepish smile. After that, the evidence kept piling up. Lipstick on Dean’s shirts, long strands of hair on his jacket, a lip balm, a bracelet, or a necklace left in his car. But I never screamed again. I was terrified of being wrong, of causing another ‘misunderstanding.’ Each time, Dean’s expression would be mild, almost bored. “A client got drunk, Avery. She hugged me and insisted I was her long-lost brother. That’s how the lipstick got on my collar.” “The car is always full of coworkers and clients. Someone must have accidentally left it. I’ll check at the office tomorrow.” I believed him every time. But I would spend the nights spinning, the quiet hours filled with suspicion and dread. I started having intense insomnia and slipped into a deep depression. I went to a psychiatrist and began taking medication. Until, finally, under the mattress of our bed, I found a black lace thong. 3 It was hidden deftly—a subtle black corner peeking out from under the white cotton edge of the mattress. This time, I didn’t scream. I didn’t explode. Even an idiot would know: he was cheating. And the other woman was a regular in our home. I waited until Dean was in the shower and immediately grabbed his phone. The password was no longer my birthday, his birthday, or our anniversary. I tried three times. One more wrong attempt, and the screen would lock. I remembered something. When we hired Savannah, Dean hesitated because her resume wasn't strong enough. He'd talked it over with me, and I distinctly remembered her file. I remembered her birthday was Christmas Eve. I’d commented, “A Christmas Eve baby, that’s so festive.” On a chilling hunch, I typed in Savannah’s birthday. Success. The phone unlocked. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My heart hammered, trying to break free from my ribcage. From that day on, I checked the chat logs every time Dean went into the shower. At first, my heart would constrict, the pain so intense that my hands would shake. Eventually, I reached a state of cold, detached numbness. I started reading their long, dramatic conversations while casually munching on chips. I used Dean’s account to forward all their chat history to my own phone, then meticulously deleted the forwarded messages from his sent folder. They texted all day, every day. Dean even updated her when he was in the bathroom. Dean: Getting paid to poop. Savannah would instantly send back a funny GIF of a cartoon duck on a toilet with another duck cheering it on. It was annoyingly cute. Savannah: Dean, if I break up with Wyatt, will you divorce Avery? Dean: Of course, I will. We barely have a relationship anymore. I asked her for a divorce a year ago. She didn't agree. Instead, she quit her job to become my full-time homemaker and even toned down her diva attitude. Dean: We were a college romance. She had plenty of rich guys chasing her, but she picked me, a poor student. She refused a dowry and brought property and money into the marriage. My job at the company? That came through her father’s connections. I owe her everything. Savannah: Dean, have you ever considered that her ‘diva attitude’ is why none of those rich guys would stick around? She picked you because you were her ceiling. If someone else had your career potential and could tolerate her better, would she have ever looked at you? Dean fell silent. After a long pause, he replied: My mother said the same thing. She thinks Avery’s family only wanted me because I was a 'safe investment' and that rich kids are too spoiled and run through their money. I had read every text between Dean and Savannah since she joined the company. Dean hadn't deleted the records, secure in his arrogance that I would never look. I briefly considered sending the entire history to Wyatt, but I stopped myself. If I exposed Savannah now, the issue would be public, but Wyatt might forgive her. Savannah’s constant digs at me suggested Wyatt already knew something and had likely chosen to overlook it. Being truly adored gives a person a kind of impunity. Then, Savannah messaged Dean: Babe, I think I left your favorite pair of my panties at your place. Dean sent a string of panic emojis: Are you serious?! Don't mess with me! Dean searched frantically: They’re not here! Look under the mattress. It would be bad if your wife found them, right? Dean flipped the entire mattress but still couldn't find them. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe they’re not lost. Dean: Babe!! Be careful next time! I’d been reading their texts for almost half a year. The intensity of their whole ‘star-crossed lovers’ thing was so over-the-top, it was almost comical. Now, Dean’s demand for a divorce at my best friend’s wedding was a clear declaration of his resolve. He had made his choice. As everyone rushed to advise him to calm down, and urged me to apologize and save my marriage, I let out a sharp, unexpected laugh. “What’s wrong, Dean? Did your girlfriend dump you?”
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