Page 24 of Am I the Only One

I swallow hard as she touches the gaping wound that I so desperately want to heal. I don’t want to love him, but I do, and it’s killing me.Heis killing my heart.

With devastation seeping out of me, I admit, “I don’t want this. This isn’t the life I dreamed of when I married him. I don’t want to be this woman who sits at home and waits for her husband while he’s with other women, but if I leave, then what? Where do I go? What do I do? I have nothing. Everything is in his name. Do I really start over from scratch?”

“Don’t even consider that as an option. You should look into hiring a private investigator,” she suggests, but what she doesn’t know is that, over a year ago, I trudged down that avenue just to have it blow up in my face. “Don’t let that man get off with just a slap on his wrist. He took the life he promised you and flushed it down the toilet.”

“But he’s in the middle of his campaign,” I stress under my breath. “He’s running for governor, for Christ’s sake. I don’t want to be front-page gossip. Maybe I should wait.”

“For what?”

I hesitate as I consider how much worse it will be if I do wait. If he’s governor, it will only make the gossip worse.

“Look, whatever you do, just be smart. Make sure this only affects him and not you. Your husband deserves to pay not only for what he is doing but also for what all these men are doing,” she says, eyeing the room, insinuating that they are all up to the same game, which they most likely are.

The thought scathes beneath the surface, making my skin crawl. I hate that Tripp has done this to us, ripped us apart at the seams. That he has thrown away our marriage for some twenty-something-year-old. Margot is right, though. Why should I have to suffer for his wrongdoings? I never asked for this, so why should I be the one left with nothing? There is no way his parents are going to stand by while I divorce their son. I know them well enough to know they will do anything to destroy me in the process. Destroy my finances, destroy my career, and destroy my name.

Reaching across the table, Margot lays her comforting hands over my restless ones. “You know that I support you no matter what, right? I’m a vault. I’ll never say a word.”

“You don’t even need to say that. I know you wouldn’t betray me.”

“Just remember ... whatever you do, keep your hands clean.”

Her words circulate in my head, again and again and again. They stay with me when I get home and into the night. The sun set long ago, and my husband hasn’t returned any of my texts and, when I call, his phone goes straight to voice mail.

The house is dark and silent, but our last few fights echo in my head, stirring my anger into resentment. I’m so anxious that I’ve nearly picked off all the polish from my nails; there’s a tiny pile of flakes by my feet.

He promised me we’d never become his parents, but here we are, a reflection of what I never thought we’d be.

I hate that I signed that stupid prenup. God, what was I thinking?

I wasn’t, and that’s on me.

However, it’s his parents who pose the biggest roadblock of all. They would never stand by and allow me to simply walk away from their son not even if they wish I had never come into his life. In their eyes, it would be a double insult for me to do so. They would rather keep me around than to have me divorce their son in the public eye and tarnish their name any more than I already have. They would turn on me and make sure that they spun the story to make me look like some cold-hearted gold digger who took advantage of their son.

So how do I ensure my future if I leave? How do I keep my integrity and my reputation intact?

If Margot were willing to get involved, she would’ve offered her help, but there is no way I would even ask that of her. She comes from a legacy family just as Tripp does, and I know she’d walk through fire to avoid a scandal.

What I need is someone who can help me prove he’s a liar and a cheater so that the prenup becomes null and void.

Margot mentioned hiring a private investigator, and it is a good idea. A good idea I’ve already had and one that has already blown up in my face.

I’ve been anxious all day as I wait for Gerald to call me. Having to hire a private investigator has been a nerve-racking ordeal. I never thought I’d find myself needing to do so, and now that I have, I feel dirty. Everything about this feels dirty, but I have to know for sure—I need proof that I can see instead of just my gut instinct. I need it in order to break the fidelity clause in the prenup I signed.

Today is day one, and I’m a basket case, busying myself around my office at the university, wondering if Gerald has been able to dig up any evidence. He told me that it could take time and to be patient with the process, but that’s easier said than done.

I’m on my knees and riffling through one of my filing cabinets when I hear a familiar voice in the waiting room. Leaning back to peer out of my office door that’s open, I see my mother-in-law talking to the student receptionist.

My chest constricts.

What is she doing here? She’s never, not once, come to my office.

I push myself to stand just as my office phone rings.

“Yes?” I answer.

“There’s a woman named Eloise here to see you.”

“Send her in.”

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