Page 40 of Marrying My Ex's Boss

Even Melanie swears my ex is not her brother’s type. A divorcee with three young kids, yeah, good luck finding a man who would take all of that on. She’d be lucky if she could bag a cashier at the local grocery store.

I caught myself enjoying that thought and had a moment of conscience. The truth is, Justine hadn’t done anything wrong in our marriage. She was the perfect wife and mother, but she didn’t give me a son. That didn’t use to bother me so much because I love my girls, but after Melanie made the comment once that it was a pity I didn’t have a son to leave my wealth to in the future that, I kept thinking about it.

Before, I would’ve laughed off something as sexist as that, but the more I thought about it, the more I came to see it as some sort of weakness on my part, especially when Melanie made a point of saying it was the man’s sperm that decided on the gender of the kid.

Now, it seems so silly that I’d let a silly thing like that get under my skin. For some reason, now that I look back on things, there wasn’t anything wrong with my marriage; I guess I just grew bored and wanted something different, something better.

I never gave much thought to Justine moving on. I was too focused on my own future to dwell on hers, but I knew, again from Melanie, how hard it is for a single mother to find a decent partner, especially in this economy.

No man was going to take on that burden. I was fine knowing that Justine would spend at least the next five or ten years alone while the kids were still dependent on her. I’d even played around with the idea of going for primary custody. That way, I wouldn’t have to pay so much in child support, but now she’d turned the tables on me.

Now, I can only go to my old house to pick up the kids, but I couldn’t stay there any longer because there was an injunction against me for abandonment. To top that off, all future correspondence had to go through her lawyer, who didn’t seem willing to give an inch on anything.

She was acting like I was some kind of criminal that she couldn’t talk to without a lawyer present, and though she wasn’t keeping my kids from me, I got the feeling that she was going to fight me in court to have as limited visitation as possible.

If I knew for sure that the boss was the one backing her, I’d handle things differently, but I have no idea who her benefactor is, and she’s not talking. I was forced to get an app that was used only to communicate about the kids; if I tried asking anything else, she could use it against me in court and say I was harassing her.

I know because that’s what she threatened the one time I called and asked her to meet and talk. She claims that she’s done with me, but when I asked if she had a man, she refused to answer. I drove by her house every night this week, and there were no strange cars in the driveway, except the one that belonged to that new black lady she was friends with.

That’s another reason why we were incompatible: her choice of friends. She doesn’t seem to realize that with my position, we could only keep company with certain people. She was always going out of her way to help the homeless or any stray she found on the street.

Whatever, I don’t have time to think about that nonsense now, but I’ll be sure to bring it up to the judge that I don’t want any and everyone around my kids. Justine might think she’s won, but I still have a few tricks up my sleeve, ways to make her life miserable.

I could always stall the divorce since she wants to play hardball. Yeah, that’s right. I can go for reconciliation; what’s she going to do then? I know the courts like to see families staying together, so maybe they’d tell us to go to counseling first.

Yes, that’s it. I’ll get her back under my thumb and then turn things around back in my favor. I should get started on that right now before things get too out of hand.

* * *

“Hey, what the hell are you doing? This is my home.”

“I don’t think so, buddy. Looks like trespassing to me.”

“I think you broke my fucking arm.”

“That’ll teach you to break into people’s house in the middle of the night.”

“Who’s breaking in? Justine, tell this stupid bitch… Ouch, you fucking kicked in.”

“Who are you calling stupid?”

“Let him go, Mo, he’s not worth it. Paul, I’d get out of here if I were you, and if you call the cops, you’ll be the one going to jail. You were served notice that you are no longer allowed here since you abandoned your kids.”

“She broke my fucking arm. Call an ambulance.”

You’ve got two hands; use the other one to dial. Come on, Mo; our show’s about to begin.” The two of them walked inside and locked the door.

What the hell just happened? I just came by to see my kids. I opened the door or tried to, but the locks had been changed. I banged on the door, and the next thing I knew, I was being tossed through the air like a sack of potatoes.

I limped back to the car looking back at the house all the while and feeling like I was caught up in some nightmare where nothing was what it appeared to be.

How is this happening to me? I’m a corporate executive, for fuck’s sake. These kinds of things don’t happen to guys like me. “Ouch!” I think she really did break my arm because it was swelling fast, and the pain was excruciating.

I looked back at the house and saw the two of them sitting on the couch, laughing at the TV. Justine? This is the woman who claimed to love me all these years? I felt blinding rage at being misled.

JUSTINE

“What do you two have to say for yourselves? Monique?”

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