The Fifth Time My Husband Stayed Out All Night, I Didn’t Call Him, Cry, Or Ask Where He Was. I Was Already Done Waiting For Him To Come Home.
Chapter 7
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“Of what?”
“Not your money.”
The elevator descended.
“They’re scared of discovery.”
I looked at him.
“Aaron is CEO of a public-facing company with an internal investigation involving his chief strategy officer. Every legal filing creates another opportunity for documents, testimony, hotel records, schedules, corporate communications.”
“So they want this quiet.”
“Yes.”
I thought about Eleanor’s visit.
Marriage requires discretion.
No.
The Prescott family required discretion.
They depended on it.
Nathan continued.
“They also know you don’t need anything from them.”
“Which means they can’t pressure me financially.”
“Exactly.”
That was the real reversal.
Not the valuation.
Freedom.
Aaron had always believed money gave him control.
But money only controls people who need yours.
I didn’t.
The doors opened.
Nathan stepped out.
I remained inside for half a second longer, staring at my reflection in the mirrored wall.
For years, I had mistaken endurance for loyalty.
I had thought leaving meant failure.
But there was nothing noble about remaining somewhere simply because other people expected you to tolerate it.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then a message appeared.
Claire, this is Jasmine. I know you don’t owe me anything, but I need to speak with you once. Not at the office. Not through Aaron. Please.
I stared at it.
My immediate instinct was no.
I didn’t want her apology.
I didn’t want details.
I didn’t want to hear how difficult things had been for her.
But the wording bothered me.
Not through Aaron.
I showed Nathan.
“What do you think?”
“As your lawyer? Don’t meet her alone without considering whether anything she says could matter.”
“As my friend?”
He paused.
“I think you’re going to wonder what she wanted to say if you don’t.”
That evening, Jasmine and I met in the lobby lounge of a hotel in Back Bay.
Public.
Quiet.
Neutral.
She arrived five minutes early.
No makeup.
Hair tied back.
Nothing like the polished woman I had seen beside my husband at galas.
She looked exhausted.
When I sat down, she didn’t offer her hand.
“Thank you for coming.”
“You have ten minutes.”
She nodded.
“I deserve less.”
I felt something sharp inside me.
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Don’t make me comfort you.”
Her face went pale.
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
A server approached.
Neither of us ordered anything.
Jasmine folded her hands.
“Your message triggered the company investigation.”
“I assumed.”
“They asked for my phone.”
I said nothing.
“I gave it to them.”
Something changed in the air.
“Why?”
“Because I was tired.”
That answer was too familiar.
I hated her for it.
“I’m not interested in your exhaustion.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me why I’m here.”
She looked directly at me.
“Aaron told me your marriage had been over for almost a year.”
I felt my jaw tighten.
“He said you were living separately in the same house while attorneys handled financial issues.”
“That was a lie.”
“I know that now.”
“You attended our anniversary dinner.”
Her eyes dropped.
I had almost forgotten.
Prescott Global held a charity reception on the same night as our second anniversary. Aaron insisted we attend before dinner.
Jasmine had been there.
She had congratulated us.
“I know,” she whispered.
“You looked me in the face and congratulated me.”
“I did.”
“And then you believed our marriage was over?”
“He told me that night was for appearances.”
I looked away.
Part of me wanted to throw the table between us.
Another part recognized Aaron’s language.
For appearances.
Manage expectations.
Protect the company.
Keep personal matters private.
Jasmine continued.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
“I should have verified what he told me.”
“Yes.”
“I should have stopped the first time I suspected he was lying.”
“Yes.”
Her voice shook.
“I didn’t.”
I looked back at her.
“How long?”
“Eight months.”
So there it was.
Eight months.
Not two years.
Not one mistaken night.
Eight months of deliberate betrayal.
My hands went cold.
“The hotel?”
She closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
I had expected the answer.
It still hurt.
She opened her bag.
“I brought this because your lawyer may eventually request it anyway.”
She placed a printed sheet on the table.
A timeline.
Dates.
Trips.
Hotels.
Messages.
My stomach turned.
“I don’t want details.”
“You might need the dates.”
“Why?”
“Because some of the trips were billed as corporate travel.”
I looked at her.
There was the other pressure point.
Not a new affair.
Not a different betrayal.
The same betrayal crossing into the company Aaron treated as sacred.
“Did the company pay for rooms?”
“Sometimes. I don’t know whether that violated policy because we were already traveling for work, but the internal investigators are reviewing it.”
I pushed the paper back.
“Give it to your attorney.”
“I already did.”
“Then why show me?”
May you like
Her eyes met mine.
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