Just a Kiss? Time for Divorce

My husband's first love posted a video on her social media.

In the video, the two of them were passing a playing card with their lips. When the card fell, their lips met in a kiss. They didn't stop—lost in the moment, they kissed passionately for an entire minute.

Her caption read: [Still the same clumsy piggy! PS: Steve's skills are as good as ever!]

I quietly liked the post and left a comment: [Congrats.]

The next second, my husband called, yelling at me furiously, "No other woman is as dramatic as you! I was just playing a game with Lanie. Why are you acting crazy again?"

It was then that I realized seven years of love meant nothing. It was time for me to leave.

I rubbed my stomach, still sore from the miscarriage, and thought, 'I'm sorry, little one. You came at the wrong time.'

Swallowing both physical and emotional pain, I replayed Melanie Jacobson's video.

Her flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes, and overflowing affection filled the screen. Below, comments were already flooding in.

[I was there! I swear, Steven and Melanie were full-on French kissing!]

[Wow! Steven's got moves. No wonder she looks so dazed. Did you see Lanie's face?]

[Still stands: women outside smell sweeter than the wife at home!]

The video ended as they finally pulled apart, after what felt like forever.

More teasing comments piled up, and Melanie selectively replied to a few.

Melanie: [Come on, guys, don't start rumors! Steve and I are just bros—good pals!]

Melanie: [Keep saying things like that, and Roly-Poly might get mad, lol!]

The "Roly-Poly" she referred to? That would be me, Anya Rouse.

When I was a kid, I had to take steroids for a medical condition, which pushed my weight up to 120 pounds.

These days, I weighed just 90 pounds, even slimmer than Melanie herself. Yet, she still clung to that nickname, especially when Steven Cobham was around.

My chest tightened, as if a rock was pressing down on it.

Thus, this was why Steven dropped a multimillion-dollar deal today to be a groomsman at an ex-classmate's wedding.

I had assumed it was brotherhood that pulled him there—but it turned out his first love, Melanie, was the bridesmaid.

How foolish I had been.

I knew it was time to end this relationship.

…

It was late when Steven stumbled home, reeking of alcohol. Bright red lipstick smudged his pristine white shirt.

He called my name a few times, but I stayed in bed, unmoving.

Drunkenly, he buried his head into my chest, coaxing, "Honey, I'm sorry. It was just a game with Lanie. I was the groomsman, she was the bridesmaid. I didn't have a choice."

Really? No choice? Because the look in his eyes during that kiss—the delight, the pride—was impossible to miss.

When I didn't respond, he rubbed his head against my chest, trying to charm me. "Honey, forgive me, okay?"

In the past, his puppy-dog act would have melted my anger instantly. Now, the image of him and Melanie's kiss made me feel sick.

I pushed him away and rolled to the far side of the bed.

Upon sensing my rejection, Steven's playful demeanor turned to anger.

"Anya, I apologized already! What more do you want?" he snapped. "Everyone was just messing around at the wedding. You're the only one taking it seriously! I've been running around all day. Can't you stop with the tantrums?"

His voice grew harsher. "Why can't you learn from Lanie? She's so understanding! What's your problem? And we're married. What more do you want from me?"