The Rain on the Mountaintop Washed Away Our Marriage

But then his stubbornness flared up all at once.

"No way. You snub my friends, you snub me. You're going tonight, no arguments."

When he saw how grim my face had gone, he tacked on another line.

"Be good. We'll just drop in, say hello, and leave. Don't put me in a mood again."

By the time we reached the place, it was already past two in the morning.

The second I stepped through the door, a bucket of cold water hit me square in the face.

I stood there shivering, soaked to the bone.

Philippa laughed. "A little welcome ceremony. You like it?"

Seeing my expression, the others rushed over to smooth things over and steered us toward the seats.

Four chairs. I was the only one left standing.

Philippa's smile widened, delighted.

"Oh, shoot. Looks like there's no extra seat..."

"Why don't you just head home? You wouldn't understand what we're talking about anyway."

Caspar Dickerson chimed right in.

"That's right. With me here, what's there to worry about? I'll keep an eye on Robert for you."

Caspar was Robert's cousin. Years ago, when he was starting his business, he came to me to borrow ten grand.

Back then he swore I was the only sister-in-law he'd ever have, that he'd be at my beck and call forever.

But later, it was also him who asked Robert,

"How does Ethel even compare to Philippa? How'd you end up marrying her?"

And then there was Brock.

Every time he needed a favor from me, he was all smiles.

Behind my back, he and Philippa would sneer at me as the nouveau-riche girl, and he covered for Robert's dirty little secrets more times than I could count.

Birds of a feather, every last one of them. Not a single decent soul among them.

The thought made me let out a soft sigh.

"No need to trouble yourselves. We're getting divorced. Three seats are plenty."

A marriage is between two people. There's no third chair.

Robert stared at me, blank with shock.

In all our years married, this was the first time I'd ever made him lose face in front of his friends.

Before, no matter how late into the night he drank, one phone call and I'd go pick him up and bring him home, never a word of complaint.

But now, I wasn't willing to keep shrinking myself for his sake.

The others heard it and scrambled over to talk me down.

Philippa, though, couldn't have cared less.

"Divorce again? What number is this now?"

"Robert, sweetie, your little wildcat at home really does have one nasty temper."

Robert couldn't stomach the humiliation. His face darkened as he rounded on me.

"Ethel, have I been too good to you? Spoiled you rotten?"

"Did you forget the days you cried and begged me not to divorce you?"

I picked up my phone and walked out without a single word.

I would never cry and beg him again.

When Philippa first came back from overseas, I'd clashed with Robert again and again over the suffocating closeness between the two of them.

And every single time, Robert would say,

"If you can't take it, then divorce me!"

Back then, I was still drowning in a love that was never real.

Over and over I apologized to Robert, admitted fault, begged for forgiveness.

I'd knelt at our own front door.

I'd sobbed alone in the dead silence of the night.

But Robert took my patience, took my love, and twisted it into an excuse to trample me.

This time, I would not bow my head again.

I went home, packed my bags, and moved into the little apartment I'd bought before the marriage.

I'd paid for it with the private savings I'd earned myself.

Back when Robert found out I'd bought it, we'd had a screaming fight over it.

"Only an idiot buys a condo. It's tiny, it's in the middle of nowhere, it's embarrassing. You'd be better off buying a car with that money. At least then I'd look good driving it around."

Later, my parents bought me a fully loaded luxury car to add to my dowry, and only then was Robert satisfied.

I was so glad I hadn't fallen for Robert's nonsense back then.

This little apartment was my safe harbor.