In the past, during our first few divorces, I was pathetic. I used to follow Brandon and Paula around the city like a masochist. I would sit in my parked car outside expensive restaurants, watching through the glass as he showered her with the kind of tender love and affection he never gave me.
He would buy her entire boutiques, kiss her forehead, and look at her like she hung the stars. It broke my heart into a million pieces, but I swallowed the pain.
I was willing to stay, willing to endure the humiliation, just for the scraps of his attention.
But everything changed a few months ago, on his birthday.
I had just found out I was pregnant. Overjoyed and terrified, I bought a custom cake and went to his private club to surprise him with the news. I thought a baby might finally make us a real family.
Instead, I got the surprise of my life.
I was standing outside the VIP room, my hand hovering over the doorknob, when I heard him talking to his best friend.