After His Mistress Sent Me Her Sonogram

Two weeks after I moved to Brooklyn, Jalen found out where I was.

He had assumed I was sleeping on my mother’s guest bed. He thought I was sobbing into pillows, waiting for his permission to come home. When the change-of-address notice hit his desk for the joint accounts, the illusion broke.

My phone rang while I was watering the fern in my living room.

I picked it up. "Hello?"

"A one-bedroom in Brooklyn Heights?" His voice was rough, loud and fast. "What the hell is this, Lexi?"

I set the watering can down. The sun hit the leaves, turning them bright green. "It’s my new address, Jalen."

He scoffed. I could hear the sharp tap of his pen against his mahogany desk. "You signed a lease. Behind my back."

"We’re divorced."

"You think this little stunt is going to make me come crawling back?" he snarled. His tone was full of venom, but underneath, I heard the crack. He wasn't in control anymore, and it was driving him crazy. "You think you can play games with me?"

I looked at the river outside my window. A ferry glided across the water, slow and steady.

"I don't think about you at all, Jalen."

I tapped the red button. The call cut off.

My phone buzzed two seconds later. Jalen.

I set the phone on the coffee table face down.

It buzzed again. And again. The screen lit up against the wood. Five missed calls. Nine. Twelve.

The last notification came through at 3:42 AM. Seventeen missed calls in total.

He was sitting alone in that giant, dark apartment on the Upper East Side. He wasn't staying awake because of guilt. Men like Jalen didn't feel guilt. He was awake because for the first time in his life, he didn't matter. He was completely irrelevant to the woman who used to build her whole day around him.

I rolled over, pulled the soft quilt over my shoulders, and fell right back to sleep.

***

While Jalen spiraled in the dark, Braelynn performed for the light.

My friend Serena sent me the link to Braelynn’s public Instagram page, *Rainy Day Sweetness*. I told myself I wouldn't care, but human curiosity is hard to kill completely.

The feed was a sea of beige, cream, and expensive coffee.

There was a photo of two matcha lattes with little foam hearts. A photo of avocado toast on a rustic wooden table in SoHo. Then came the money shot: Jalen’s tanned hand, wearing his gold Rolex, resting on Braelynn’s bare thigh inside his sports car.

*When he looks at you like you're his whole world 🥺✨,* the caption read.

I looked closely at the picture. Jalen’s hand wasn't gripping her leg. His fingers were loose. Casual. Almost bored. It was the same way he used to hold his car keys.

As the days passed, Braelynn posted more and more. Three times a day. Four times a day.

*Weekend getaways with my favorite human.*

*He spoils me so much.*

*Building our future together.*

The captions grew longer. The words grew louder. But anyone who knew Jalen could read between the lines. He hadn't introduced her to his parents. He hadn't given her a key to the apartment. Whenever she tried to talk about moving in together, he probably changed the subject or poured another drink.

He had wanted a shiny distraction from his marriage. Now that the marriage was gone, the distraction was just work.

Braelynn was screaming into the internet, trying to convince the world she had won a grand prize.

The trouble was, the prize was already turning to rust in her hands.

***

On Thursday afternoon, my phone rang from an unknown number.

I was at my desk at the architecture firm, sketching the elevation lines for a new brownstone project. I picked up without looking.

"Lexi Montgomery."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. Then a voice, thin and trembling with rage.

"What did you say to him?"

It was Braelynn. The sweet, baby-voiced girl from the voice notes was completely gone.

I leaned back in my chair, holding the pencil steady. "Excuse me?"

"You're doing something," she hissed. I could hear traffic in the background. She was walking fast, out of breath. "He’s cold. He barely looks at me. He cancelled our dinner tonight because he said he had 'work,' but I know he’s thinking about you. What did you say to him on the phone?"

She was losing her mind.

The reality hit me so fast that a sound escaped my chest. I laughed.

It wasn't a bitter laugh. It was light, clean, and completely genuine.

"You think this is funny?" Braelynn snapped, her voice spiking an octave. "You're trying to ruin us!"

"Braelynn," I said, keeping my voice calm and low. "The only person standing between you and a ring is the man who was never going to give you one."

I didn't wait for her to scream. I didn't wait for her to cry.

I hung up the phone. I blocked the number.

Across the river, on some busy Manhattan street corner, Braelynn was probably staring at a black screen with the dial tone humming in her ear.

For months, she had fought tooth and nail to steal my life.

Now, she finally had him all to herself. And she was learning the hard way that an empty man leaves you emptier than you started.

I picked up my drafting pencil, bent over my desk, and went back to drawing.