Betrayed on April Fool's Day, I abandoned my husband

I was a girl who laughed too loudly at her own jokes and wore yellow dresses and once danced barefoot on a beach in the rain because why not, why not, the music was good and I was happy.

I thought about Jason, kneeling in the golden light of a different ocean, telling me I was the only thing he was certain of.

"I will love you," he had said. "Just you. Always."

"To April Fool's Day," Tom said, raising his glass.

The table raised their glasses.

I raised main too, and smiled my correctly-timed smile, and thought:

"Three years ago, I was not this person."

"I don't remember how I became her."

"But I think �� I think �� I am very tired of being her."

I set my glass down carefully. Around me, the laughter continued, bright and careless as a party that had nothing to do with me. Jason leaned in to say something in Zoe's ear, and Zoe covered her mouth with one hand, delighted.

I looked down at my current outfit. A faded gray sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants. No makeup. My hair tied in a messy, dull knot.

He had changed the rules right after our honeymoon.

��Take off that lipstick,��he would say, wiping my mouth with his rough thumb. "I don't want other men looking at you."

"That skirt is too short. Your beauty belongs to me."

I threw out my dresses. I stopped buying cosmetics. I shrank myself to make him feel secure.

"You made me stop wearing makeup," I said, my voice eerily steady. "You threw away my clothes."

Jason sighed, rolling his eyes. "Why are you bringing that up now?"

"Because you made me look like this," I pointed to my oversized sweater. "And now you're screwing someone who looks exactly like I used to."

Zoe let out a sharp laugh. "Don't flatter yourself, honey. You never looked like me."

Jason stepped forward, reaching out. "Clara, stop being dramatic. The guys downstairs set the whole thing up. Come on."

He grabbed my wrist. His grip felt like iron. He dragged me out of the bedroom and down the hallway.

"Let go of me," I demanded, yanking my arm backward.

"We have guests," he muttered, marching me toward the staircase. "Stop embarrassing me in front of them."

Embarrassing "him"?

Earlier tonight, during our own house party, I watched him pour drinks for Zoe by the keg. I watched his hands linger on her waist. I watched them whisper and laugh. When I finally went upstairs to escape the noise, I found them in my bed.

We hit the bottom of the stairs. The bass from the living room speakers vibrated through the floorboards. Red plastic cups littered the coffee table.

A group of his friends huddled around the kitchen island. They were right in the middle of a drinking game, slamming shot glasses onto the marble counter.

Greg, Jason's best friend, pointed a finger at us. "Whoa! Look who finally came down!"

Jason forced a loud, booming laugh. He wrapped an arm around my stiff shoulders, pulling me into his side. "We got her, boys. She totally bought the bedroom setup."

The entire kitchen erupted in cheers.

"No way!" Greg slapped the counter, knocking over an empty can. "You actually thought he was banging Zoe?"

I scanned the circle of men. My husband's friends. They were all in on it. Or maybe they weren't, and Jason was just using them as a shield to cover his tracks.

Zoe sauntered into the kitchen behind us. She wore one of Jason's button-down shirts, the hem barely covering her thighs. She leaned against the stainless-steel fridge, sipping from a red cup.

"She looked like she was going to cry," Zoe said, her tone thick with mock pity.

Jason squeezed my shoulder. I felt physically sick.

"Alright, alright," Greg shouted over the heavy music. "Time for the grand finale. The real April Fool's test."

Greg reached into his leather backpack resting on a barstool. He pulled out a thick stack of stapled papers and threw it onto the island. The pages fanned out across the marble.

"Divorce papers," Greg announced.

The room went silent for a split second, then the guys started howling.

"Sign it, Jase!" someone yelled from the back of the room.

"Show her you're a man of your word!" another guy chanted.

My eyes locked onto the stark black text on the front page. "Petition for Dissolution of Marriage."

"Where did you even get these?" I asked.

"Printed them off the internet," Greg said, grinning widely. "Come on, Jase. You said you'd do it."

Jason looked at the papers. Then he looked at me. His eyes swept over my baggy sweatshirt, my bare face, my messy hair. Disgust flashed across his features for a fraction of a second.

He thought I was pathetic. He thought I was too plain to ever attract another man. He believed I would cling to his leg and beg him to stop the joke.

"Hand me a pen," Jason said.

Greg tossed a black ballpoint pen across the counter. Jason caught it effortlessly.

He flipped to the last page. "It's just a prank, Clara. Don't take it seriously."

He scribbled "Jason Mercer" on the signature line.

The guys cheered again, raising their plastic cups in the air.

"Your turn, Clara!" Greg taunted. "Unless you're too scared?"

Jason pushed the papers toward me. The pen rolled to a stop against my knuckles.

"She won't do it," Zoe chimed in from the fridge. "She's too obsessed with him."

Jason smirked. "Come on, Clara. Prove you can take a joke. Sign it."

He crossed his arms, waiting for my tears. Waiting for me to break down and ruin his party so he could call me hysterical.

I picked up the pen. The plastic felt cold against my skin.

"Your beauty belongs to me," he had said.

"I'm going to ruin you," he had told Zoe.

I looked at the signature line. Next to Jason's messy scrawl was a blank space waiting for my name.

"You really want me to sign this?" I asked.

"It's April Fool's," Jason said, tapping his foot against the tile. "Just do it so we can get back to the game."

I clicked the pen.

I pressed the tip to the paper.

I didn't hesitate. I didn't shake.

I wrote "Clara Mercer" in bold, clear letters.

I set the pen down. The soft click echoed louder than the music beating against my eardrums.

Jason's smirk vanished. He glared at the blue ink on the page.

"There," I said. "Joke's over."

I turned around and walked toward the front door.

"Wait, Clara!" Jason called out, his voice losing its arrogant edge. "Where are you going?"

I grabbed my car keys from the ceramic bowl by the entrance.

"I'm leaving, Jason." I opened the front door. The cool night wind hit my face, bringing a sudden rush of clarity. "And tomorrow, I'm filing those papers for real."

"Clara, stop!" he shouted, his heavy footsteps pounding against the hardwood floor as he ran after me. "Are you out of your mind?"

I stepped onto the porch. "Don't follow me."

"You can't leave!" he snapped, grabbing the doorframe. "You have nowhere to go! You have nothing without me!"

I looked back at him. At the panic finally breaking through his smug facade.

"Watch me," I said.

I slammed the front door shut, leaving him trapped inside his own twisted game. But as I walked to my car, a dark figure stepped out from the shadows of the driveway, blocking my path.

"Going somewhere, Clara?" a deep, unfamiliar voice asked.