that the girls had just been informed of their parents’ pending divorce. Scott did not try to talk her out of it, but he did put a lot of energy into trying to negotiate some kind of living arrangement that did not leave him trying to find a hotel.
“I don’t know why I can’t just stay here,” he said. “I’m the one who’s been in charge of the house and the kids.”
“Two reasons,” she said. “One—you’re not one hundred percent in charge. They get themselves up, drive themselves to school and half the time get their own dinner. I do their laundry, spend most evenings with them, help with homework and studying. And two—you’re the one who strayed. You broke the marriage contract.”
“And you don’t even seem that upset,” he said accusingly. “I haven’t seen you shed a tear! I think maybe you’re secretly glad to have a way out.”
“But I’m not,” she said. “Plus there is no other way out now.”
It was true; she still hadn’t cried. She felt like she was locked in a tight box with an iron band wound around her middle and her chest. She even asked herself a few times if it was possible she was having a heart attack. She considered going to see her doctor, who she thought of as a friend. If you met your doctor for drinks or a light dinner now and then, didn’t it make you friends? She thought about asking her doctor if she was abnormal.
She did throw up frequently. She couldn’t eat. Food didn’t appeal, and when she did force something down, it stuck in her throat. She stocked up on yogurt and ice cream and went home from work early so she could be there for the girls when they got home from school. They talked endlessly, trying to get a fix on what their lives might be like going forward. Every single afternoon and evening was consumed with talking. She made them soup or pizza or sloppy joes or anything they had a yen for; the poor things didn’t feel like eating either. She tried to reassure them they would still have both of their parents whenever they wanted them, but she did think it was a good idea that only one of them lived in the family home.
Justine had long heard about that rule of never saying negative things about the departing spouse and that was damned hard, given he was a jerk and a liar. But as it turned out, she didn’t have to say anything at all. Scott was on another planet, free to be with his mistress. He didn’t show up on time, didn’t keep tabs on the girls, didn’t talk to them about what their lives would be like, didn’t try to explain. Didn’t apologize. Instead of begging for forgiveness he merely said, “I haven’t been happy. Don’t you want me to be happy?”
Apparently, it was all about Scott’s happiness.
It was also true there was no other way out, even if she forgave Scott, though he hadn’t asked her to. How did you continue a partnership when one of the partners was capable of a long, insidious, remorseless betrayal?
But Scott just wouldn’t leave. They didn’t fight, though they did grind out a few terse words here and there. He had been banished to the guest room at night, and it felt like he was settling in too comfortably. He had stopped telling her or the girls where he was going, just dropping short sentences as he walked out the door like, “I’ll be home by ten,” or “I’ll be out for a few hours.”
“I hope you’re thinking about a property settlement,” Justine said. “The more we can work out amicably, the better for the girls. They won’t be involved in our negotiations. If we’re smart, we can get through this without doing them any more harm.”
“If you’re going to keep acting like this is my fault, there will be harm,” Scott said.
“I’ll do my best, but this is your fault. You took a lover. I did not.”
And why not? she asked herself. She’d been lonely, too. Scott was busy with his activities all the time and didn’t seem to need her. They spent a couple of afternoons