His Regret, My Freedom

From the back cover

The call came on a sunny Tuesday, a day promising peace, as I reviewed blueprints in my home office.

Then, my phone vibrated with his name: Ethan Carter, my husband.

"Chloe," he said, his voice cold and distant, "We need to get a divorce."

He wanted to give "her" legitimate status; he' d met someone.

I simply leaned back, my voice flat, "Okay. Then we should do that."

He hung up, without a proper goodbye, after arranging for his lawyer to draft the generous settlement papers.

My best friend, Maya, on the other hand, exploded, "That son of a bitch! After everything you' ve done for him!"

Her fury was a storm I couldn't feel, my own emotions a placid lake.

"He wants to give 'the other woman' legitimate status," I recited, the words foreign on my tongue.

Maya vowed to burn his suits and sue him for every penny, insisting I was in shock.

"It' s okay," I told her, a tired smile touching my lips. "I also had an affair."

A different kind of silence fell.

"And another thing," I added, looking at my perfect blueprints, "His affair? I arranged it."