Our Anniversary, Their Birthday Chapter 2

I spent the night on the couch, a ghost in my own home, until the sun came up.

My phone finally rang. It was Ethan.

His voice was strained, urgent. “Chloe, listen. About last night, I can explain. It was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t what it looked like.”

My own voice came out as a dry rasp. “A mistake? When did we get divorced, Ethan? When did you become Isabelle’s husband? And when did you have a son who’s old enough to be in preschool?”

A beat of silence on his end.

“I’ll explain everything later,” he finally said. “Just… don’t go after Isabelle. It has nothing to do with her.”

I laughed. It was a brittle, broken sound. Tears started to stream down my face, hot and silent. Even now, his first instinct was to protect her. He still wouldn’t give me a straight answer.

In everyone else’s eyes, she was the one who had stood by him, who had helped him build his empire from the ground up. I was just… the other woman. Our anniversary, a day meant for us, had become their anniversary.

The irony was crushing. In the story of my own marriage, I had somehow become the villain. The mistress.

Ethan never came home.

Instead, Isabelle showed up at my door.

She sauntered in, a victorious smile on her face, and sat across from me as if she owned the place.

My hands clenched into fists in my lap.

“What do you want?”

Isabelle simply arched an eyebrow. She held up her left hand, flashing the diamond on her ring finger.

“This? This is the ring Ethan proposed to me with.”

She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Chloe, if I were you, I’d just leave gracefully. There’s no need to make this any uglier than it has to be.”

I stared at her, my blood turning to ice.

She smiled again. “And we have an adorable son together. You? What do you have? Every time he told you he was working late on a holiday, where was he really? He was with me. Celebrating our anniversary. Celebrating our son’s birthday. Every single year.”

No matter how hard I tried to stay composed, her words were like daggers. My face contorted in a mask of pain I couldn’t hide. My heart, already fractured, splintered into a thousand more pieces.

All those anniversaries, those holidays I’d spent alone. He’d always claim it was a last-minute business trip, an unavoidable crisis at work. I was disappointed, of course, but I told him I understood. I told him work was important. I’d prepare elaborate dinners that would end up in the trash can, untouched. The next day, a lavish gift would arrive—his apology, his penance.

Only now did I understand. It wasn't an apology. It was hush money for his conscience.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing myself to regain some semblance of control. I looked her dead in the eye.

And then, I smiled.

“Ethan and I are married, Isabelle. We have a marriage license. We have legal protections. As long as I am his wife, you and that little boy of yours are nothing but a mistress and an illegitimate child.”

“Doesn’t sound quite so glamorous when you put it that way, does it?”

I watched with grim satisfaction as the color drained from her smug face.

But she recovered quickly. She leaned back, a flicker of something new in her eyes. She laughed.

“He doesn’t love you,” she said simply. “You know, when we’re together, he’s always telling me how much he regrets marrying you.”

“He says you don’t know how to be affectionate, how to be soft. That in bed, you’re like a cold, dead fish. A total turn-off.”

“He told me that sleeping with you feels like a chore. That it’s utterly boring.”

Her words sent a dizzying shockwave through me. I had always thought… I had thought we were good. That our intimacy was real. After we made love, he would always hold me close, kissing me softly for minutes on end.

I guess he was just a better actor than I ever knew.

Seeing my stunned silence, Isabelle’s smile widened.

“So since we’re all clear on the situation, why not just sign the divorce papers? It would be better for everyone, don’t you think?”

She was right. A divorce would be better for everyone.

But I just looked at her, my own smile fixed in place.

“A divorce? You can tell Ethan to ask me for one himself.”

“Even if I wanted one,” I added, leaning in, “do you really think he has the guts to agree to it?”

The triumphant look on her face vanished completely.