My Ex-Husband Followed Me After Marrying His Mistress

That night, after Riley was asleep, I sat on the edge of our bed.

The house was quiet. Ethan was in the bathroom. I could hear the water running.

I pressed my thumb against the inside of my wrist.

The cologne.

In the grocery store, when Bryce had walked closer, I'd smelled it. The same one. The exact same one he'd worn six years ago. The one that used to be on his shirts in our closet. The one I'd smelled the night he told me the baby was a complication.

It had cost me one second. One involuntary, stupid second where I wasn't in the Hamptons anymore. I was twenty-eight and pregnant and listening to him explain why a child would hurt his image.

I breathed.

The water stopped.

Ethan came out. He looked at me. Didn't say anything. Just walked over and sat down beside me.

I stared at my hands.

"He still thinks he wrote that pilot," I said quietly.

Ethan took my hand. Pulled it away from my wrist. Held it.

I looked at him. "He told the story at the grocery store. About his breakout. He said it like—" I stopped. "Like it was his."

"I know."

"He's told it so many times he believes it."

Ethan's thumb moved across my knuckles. Slow. Steady.

"He looked at Riley," I said. "And he thought—"

"I know what he thought."

I nodded. My throat felt tight.

"He thought I'd been alone this whole time. Raising his child. Waiting for him to come back and—" I stopped. Breathed. "God. The arrogance."

Ethan pulled me closer. I leaned into him.

"You're not alone," he said quietly.

"I know."

"And she's not his."

"I know."

He kissed the top of my head. Held me there.

I closed my eyes.

The scar tissue had been torn open. We both knew it.

***

Two days later, I was at a café in the West Village.

I met Diana there sometimes when I was in the city. She was running late. I ordered a coffee and sat by the window.

Ten minutes later, the door opened.

Bryce walked in.

I looked up. Blinked.

He saw me. His face lit up like he'd just won something.

"Celeste," he said, walking over. "Wow. What are the odds?"

I set my coffee down. "Pretty low."

He laughed. Pulled out the chair across from me without asking. "Mind if I sit?"

I minded.

He sat anyway.

"I was just grabbing coffee," he said. "Didn't expect to run into you."

I said nothing.

He leaned back. Smiled. "So. That was your husband the other day."

"Yes."

"Ethan Brooks." He said the name carefully. Testing it. "That's—I mean, that's a big deal."

"Is it."

"Come on, Celeste. Brooks Media Group? The guy owns half the industry."

I picked up my coffee.

"How did you two meet?" Bryce asked.

I looked at him. "Through a friend."

"And you got married."

"Yes."

"When?"

"Four years ago."

He nodded slowly. Did the math. "So pretty soon after—"

"After you and I divorced," I finished. "Yes."

His jaw tightened. "That was fast."

I didn't answer.

"And the kid," he said. "Riley. She's—what, five?"

"Yes."

"So you got pregnant right away."

I set my coffee down. "Bryce. Why are you here?"

He blinked. "I told you. I was just—"

"This is my café," I said quietly. "I've been coming here for three years. You've never been here before."

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

"You followed me," I said.

"I didn't—"

"Again."

His face flushed. "I wanted to talk to you."

"We have nothing to talk about."

"Celeste—"

The door opened. Diana walked in. She saw me. Smiled. Then she saw Bryce.

Her smile disappeared.

She walked over. Stood beside the table. "Celeste. You ready?"

I stood. "Yeah."

Bryce looked up at Diana. At me. "We're not done."

"We are," I said.

I walked out.

Diana followed.

On the sidewalk, she grabbed my arm. "What the hell was that?"

"He's been following me."

"Jesus." She looked back at the café. "Does Ethan know?"

"Not yet."

"Celeste—"

"I'll tell him."

She studied my face. "You okay?"

I nodded.

She didn't look convinced.

***

The next weekend, I went to a gallery opening in Chelsea.

Ethan was with Riley at a birthday party. I'd told him I wanted an hour alone. He'd kissed me and told me to take two.

The gallery was quiet. White walls. Soft lighting. I moved slowly through the rooms.

I turned a corner.

Bryce was standing in front of a painting.

I stopped.

He turned. Saw me. Smiled.

"Celeste," he said. "Hi."

I stared at him.

He walked over. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"Yes, you did."

His smile faltered. "I—"

"Stop," I said quietly.

He stopped.

"Stop showing up," I said. "Stop following me. Stop pretending this is coincidence."

His face hardened. "I just want to talk to you."

"We have nothing to talk about."

"We were married, Celeste."

"We were," I said. "And then you destroyed that. You don't get to walk back into my life and—"

"I made mistakes," he said. His voice dropped. "I know that. But we had something real. We—"

"No," I said.

He blinked.

"We didn't have something real," I said. "You had me. I had a fantasy."

His jaw tightened.

I turned to leave.

"I still love you," he said.

I stopped.

Turned back.

He looked at me. His eyes were wet.

"I never stopped," he said quietly.

I stared at him.

Then I laughed.

It wasn't kind.

"You don't love me, Bryce," I said. "You love that I don't want you anymore."

I walked out.

My hands were shaking.

I got in my car. Sat there. Pressed my thumb against my wrist.

Then I called Ethan.

He answered on the first ring.

"Hey," he said. "You okay?"

"He's following me," I said.

Silence.

"I'm coming to get you," Ethan said. "Where are you?"

I told him.

"Stay there," he said. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

He hung up.

I waited.

Twenty minutes later, his car pulled up.

He got out. Walked over. Opened my door.

I got out. He pulled me into his chest.

I breathed.

"One phone call," he said quietly. "That's all it takes."

I nodded against him.

I believed him.