Marital Bitch (Men with Badges) - By Jc Emery Page 0,18

catch sly grins and snickers in my direction from my “friends” and I just know that this cannot be good. I check my phone to find that there’s several updates on Facebook. Oh no.

[Bradley Patrick is married to Colleen Frasier Patrick]

[Bradley Patrick likes Colleen Frasier Patrick’s status]

My eyes grow wide and I see that all of my “friends” like my status. But I haven’t been on Facebook since we left Boston. What the fuck? And why has my name changed!

[Colleen Frasier Patrick is having lunch with “the hubs” Bradley Patrick]

“Who hacked my Facebook account?” I glare around at each of them. I can’t tell who did it. They all look guilty. I try to log into my account, but the password has been changed. “Who changed my password?” I know I’m screaming but I can’t stop myself. They all burst out laughing. I continue to scroll through my hijacked Facebook page. Last night Darla posted pictures from our wedding. Crap. She even posted a link where the whole thing could be watched on the internet. And then I see it. I see where my mom commented.

[Louise Carter Frasier commented on Colleen Frasier Patrick’s relationship status > Colleen (Frasier) Patrick! OMG! How can you do this without us? Emily is distraught!]

And then Brad’s mom.

[Emily Shaw Patrick commented on Colleen Frasier Patrick’s relationship status > Yay! Finally! I knew you two were going to be married one day! Louise, can you believe it? Next up, grandbabies! :D]

And then Brad’s older sister, Charlotte, pipes up.

[Charlotte Patrick Leone commented on Colleen Frasier Patrick’s relationship status > She probably already is knocked up, mom. That’d explain the quickie wedding… ;)]

[Bradley Patrick commented on Colleen Frasier Patrick’s relationship status > Well if she ain’t knocked up yet, I’m not doing something right.]

Oh my God. He has to stop. Thanks, Charlotte. You’re off my Christmas card list now, bitch. I pry my eyes from my phone. I want to cry. I can’t believe this has gone to Facebook. They’re all still laughing and not a single person understands the severity of the situation. Not a damn one.

I have a job-- not just a job, but a career. I have a reputation to uphold, not just out in the world but if nowhere else-- at the firm. I quickly total up how much debt I have in student loans left to pay and the fact that I’ve only been practicing for eight years now… I’m still working my way up. I can’t get fired. And honestly, I’ve spent a good half of what I could have saved at Bloomingdale’s over the years. If I lose my position because of this nonsense, I’ll have to move back in with my mother. No, I won’t. No, it’ll be worse. I’ll have to move in with my husband. Tears stream down my face.

“You don’t get it,” I whine-cry as I look around the table. “I have a job, and my boss has certain expectations of me. I could get passed up for promotions if someone at the firm sees this!” Everyone scoffs at me, Brad pats my knee, and Darla tells me that I shouldn’t have gotten married if I didn’t want everyone to know.

I stand up, toss down a twenty dollar bill and stomp out of the restaurant. Brad chases after, catching me as I reach the street. He wraps his strong arms around me and I sink into him, crying. He whispers his apology and promises me that he wasn’t the one who hacked my Facebook account. I believe him.

THE REST OF the day Brad and I shut ourselves off from the rest of our friends. I just can’t face any of them. Despite the numerous phone calls, text messages, Facebook comments and e-mail messages apologizing, I still don’t get a single admittance of guilt from any one of them. They seem to be banded together as a unit. That’s one thing I’ll say for them-- they’re loyal. They must not have anticipated how upset I would be-- except for Darla. She just doesn’t care.

My phone rings and the Caller I.D. shows it’s Grammy Mary. I dread this phone call, but Grammy hasn’t been in the best health as of late, and I can’t just ignore it. I could for anyone else, but not my Grammy. Grammy is the only one who completely supported me when I made the decision to go to Harvard. My mother has always been more worried about me producing grandchildren for her than what