After Fifteen Years, I Learned I Was the Other Woman

"I can explain!"

"This is all a misunderstanding!"

"Babe!"

There was rustling on Julian's end, followed by the sound of a car door slamming shut. "I'm coming to you right now."

"Don't rush."

"Whatever it is, we'll talk when I get there."

Julian was still talking.

Lucille had already lost it, screaming into the phone like a woman unhinged.

"Julian James! Whose husband are you?! Who are you protecting?!"

Lucille's shrill, crumbling voice echoed through the living room. I took another slow look around the apartment. The decor was warm, inviting. Pink curtains framed the windows. A cream-colored sofa sat in the center. An entire wall was lined with shelves of collectible figurines, and even the refrigerator was decorated with little good-luck magnets and holiday cards.

A pair of blue cartoon slippers sat by the shoe rack, clearly the matching set to the ones on Lucille's feet.

Even the off-white walls were covered with photos of Lucille. Tucked between them were a few shots of Julian from behind.

It was obvious.

Whoever had decorated this apartment had poured their heart into it.

Hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Paid in full.

Lucille's name on the deed.

Lucille's bracelet.

Three million dollars.

That was supposed to be my wedding anniversary gift. And then there was the silk robe Lucille was wearing, and Lucille's manicure, and the tea set on the coffee table, and the brand of tea beside it. Every single item was far from cheap.

Every single item.

Reeked of luxury.

I looked down at my own bare nails. No polish, no decoration. Then I looked at my palms, rough with calluses built up over years of hard work. And my clothes, my shoes, head to toe, not even worth a thousand dollars combined.

It all felt so absurd. So absurd that a laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

"Julian."

I cut him off.

"Since you're already married," I took one last look at the marriage certificate in Lucille's arms, "there's nothing left for us to talk about."

I didn't wait for Julian.

I didn't need to hear his explanation.

All I knew was this:

Fifteen years of everything I'd given had become a joke.

And Julian James had made me the biggest fool in it.

I sat in Natalie Ward's law office and placed the photo of the marriage certificate on the desk. I laid out everything I'd learned, detail by detail.

Then I asked her one thing.

"In a situation like this."

"What are my chances?" My voice was steady, like I was making small talk. "Julian and I built the company from nothing. Our shares are equal, assets split fifty-fifty, everything transparent. But then there's Lucille."

I tapped the desk, thinking of the three-million-dollar bracelet and the apartment that cost over a million.

"I don't intend to let anyone walk away with a single thing they don't deserve."

"Climbing over my bones to live the good life? That's not how the world works. That's not how any of this works."

I looked Natalie dead in the eye.

"I want them to pay."

"But," Natalie was seething on my behalf, yet she put on her professional hat, "your company is at a critical stage of its IPO. If a scandal breaks now—"

"I don't care."

"Then that's all I need to hear!"

Natalie thumped her chest.

"I will see this through to the end with you."

Coming out of the bank, I sat in my car, staring at dozens of pages of transaction records. The amounts Julian had transferred to Lucille ranged from tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands of dollars. And after every single one, a note was appended: Voluntary gift.

My chest tightened like something was pressing down on it. A suffocating grip closed around my throat, and my eyes burned hot.

I remembered then. I used to admire other women's manicures too. I envied how put-together they looked. And once, just like those carefree young women, I'd booked an appointment and gotten my nails done. I came home and made a point of flashing my pretty fingers in front of Julian, waving them around, hoping he'd tell me I looked beautiful.