Page 2 of The Art Of Starting Over

Someone who hadn’t parked out front or in her driveway.

Against her better judgment, Devy crept down the hall. The moans grew louder, the squeaking of the bed the telltale sign of people having sex. She knew better than to turn the doorknob but couldn’t stop herself. Not now.

From what she could remember, Ester had an ebony four-poster bed. She’d spent lavishly on curtains, duvets, and sheets. The finest thread counts. According to her, this was her sanctuary and where she wanted to feel the sexiest at all times. Devy had tried the same at home, finding the rich colors and fabrics to bring her bedroom to life. The problem was, she bored easily with colors and wanted to change them often. Bright colors in the spring and summer and soft dark colors in the winter. Chad never cared. “Whatever makes you happy” was all he’d ever said.

Devy stepped into the room. Ester and whoever she was with kept going. At first, she told herself it wasn’t her husband. The bare back, strong arms, and toned legs visible to her prying eyes weren’t those of the man she’d vowed to love until death did they part.

She watched as her husband, the man she’d loved since high school—he the star quarterback of their small high school and she the head cheerleader—turned and looked over his shoulder at her while he was balls deep in her best friend.

Her stomach rolled, and she fought back the urge to lose its contents on the white Persian rug Ester loved so much. Yet she couldn’t look away, even though every voice in her head told her to run, to run and never look back.

Devy stood there, eyeing her husband, as her knees weakened and threatened to give out from under her.

Still, as they stared at each other, neither said anything.

“Why’d you stop, Chad? I’m close.” Ester spoke in a breathy voice, clearly in the process of reaching her peak.

“Devorah.” He said her name quietly and then scrambled off Ester, taking the sheet with him and leaving her naked as the day she was born.

Words failed her. The anger Devy thought she’d feel when she found her husband cheating on her didn’t come forward. Gut-wrenching pain and anguish did, along with tears. She covered her mouth in a failed attempt to stifle a sob and ran from the room.

Chad didn’t follow.

When Devy got outside, she bent at the waist and vomited all over Ester’s spring perennials, heaved in gulps of air, and choked. She felt a hand on her back and flinched. “Don’t touch me,” she screamed. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

“Devorah, lower your voice,” Chad said through gritted teeth. He looked around as if he was embarrassed by his wife losing the contents of her stomach in his mistress’s front yard. The irony of the situation was, if someone came outside and saw his rumpled shirt and messed-up hair, they’d know what he was doing there. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see what was going on.

“Don’t you dare tell me to lower my voice.” Devy stood, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and looked into her husband’s brown eyes. He was full of shit; that’s what everyone always said about him.Chad Campbell is full of shit. You can see it in his eyes.She never could. She was blinded by love. Devy had fallen for him at the beginning of their junior year of high school and never looked back. Smitten by his charm and good looks. He’d always kept his brown hair short and gelled off to the side. The wild mane before her was a result of fingers brushing through it. She’d done it more times than she could count and loved how he looked after they’d made love. And now he’d allowed someone else to do it. That someone being her best friend.

“We’ll talk about this at home.”

“Why wait?” She raised her voice and threw her hands up in the air.

The front door opened. Ester, with her long blond hair and lean legs, stood against the door casing, wearing a short pink silk bathrobe. Devy knew in her heart there wasn’t anything she could say or do to save her marriage. Chad had already made his choice.

Devy looked at the ground. Her freshly painted toenails matched the color of Ester’s robe. It was a color Chad had mentioned he liked on her.

My bad for assuming he meant me.

“Where are your shoes?” he asked her.

She let out a strangled cry. “You know, I’m not really sure. I think they’re somewhere between here and the video I saw of my best friend admitting to sleeping with my husband. It’s pretty high quality,” she told him. “Do you want to see it?”

Chad said nothing. His expression didn’t even change.

Devy looked at her best—now former—friend. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe an explanation for the utter humiliation, betrayal, and hurt she and Chad had caused her.

Instead, Ester spoke. “He loves me, Dev.”

Devorah’s eyes met Chad’s. He didn’t break eye contact. “It’s true. I’ve fallen in love with her.”

“How long has this been going on?”

Chad looked around. Devy didn’t care if any of Ester’s neighbors came outside.

“How long, Chad?” she screamed.

“A year,” he told her under his breath. “Look, I’m sorry, Dev. I love her, and I’m moving in with her.”

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