Page 81 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

“Why did he do that, Terry? Is it because you harassed me online with dozens of fake reviews?”

I didn’t know faces could turn purple. Terry’s eyes bulge. It’s oddly satisfying.

My ex-husband has a terrible temper. I used to tiptoe around him when we were together, doing everything in my power to make sure he’d never get upset. Now, I don’t have the desire or the patience to do it.

I step off Remy’s porch and narrow my eyes. “You need to leave and never speak to me again. We’re done, Terry.”

His narrow, twisted mouth opens—and a car screeches down my quiet street. It’s a white sedan I don’t recognize until the driver slams on the brakes and stops next to Terry’s car.

Caroline flings herself out from behind the wheel and tears open the back door. She grabs a handful of men’s clothes and tosses them at Terry’s car with a feral yell. “You cheating bastard!”

Terry’s gaze flicks from her to me and back again. “Caroline, what are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asks, circling her car to get to the passenger side. She rips the door open and grabs something from the seat, brandishing a brown legal envelope. “I’m divorcing you!”

The envelope slices through the air and lands at Terry’s feet.

“No you’re not,” he growls.

“I’ve retained a lawyer, and I’m taking you to the cleaners.” Her eyes are slits. “That prenup we signed wasn’t just for shits and giggles, sweetheart.” She says the pet name like an insult.

“Caroline, calm down.”

I sidle toward the gap in the bushes so I can head for my own house, keeping the two of them in my sights. Caroline is at her car’s driver’s side again, the door open. She snarls at her husband. “I’m calm, Terry. I’m suing you for full custody of our child, and I’m making damn well sure that infidelity clause in our prenup comes into play.”

The purplish color of Terry’s skin drains completely, and his face turns bone white. “Wait,” he says. “No. Caroline—wait.”

“My sister is staying at the house with me. Her husband is installing cameras. If you need to speak to me, do it through my lawyer.”

And with that, Caroline slips behind the wheel of her car and drives away.

I click my jaw shut. I’ve made it to my own front door, my hand on the knob in case Terry turns his anger on me. But he’s in a daze, staring at the clothing and toiletries strewn over the street. He picks up the legal envelope and glances inside. His shoulders round.

Quietly, I slip inside my house and lock the door. Through the front window, I watch him pile his belongings into the back seat of his car and drive away.

All is quiet.

I should feel vindicated, victorious—and the very petty part of me does—but mostly I feel tired. Caroline has a long road ahead, but at least she won’t have to drag Terry along with her.

That’s when I realize that I’m glad he and I divorced. It’s no longer an empty, neutral feeling. Now, having witnessed the mess he made of his next marriage, I feel nothing but bone-deep relief at having left that part of my life behind.

My gaze drifts over the newly-shorn grass of my front lawn.

As I look at the evidence of Remy’s good deed—because no one else could have done this for me without wanting anything else in return—a warm feeling spreads across my chest. It’s like the warmth of the morning sun on my skin. Like the dawn of a new day.

Then I get an idea.

Hyperventilating, I let the curtains fall back over my window and make a beeline to my kitchen. I work at warp speed, not stopping until I hear a car pull in next door. Remy’s garage opens and closes, and I give myself ten minutes to gather my thoughts, get changed, and tamp down my nerves.

Then I take a deep breath and cross our front yards one last time.

THIRTY-TWO

REMY

I’ve just stepped out of the shower when I hear the doorbell ring. Annoyance sparks. If this is that scumbag Terry, I’m going to do what I’ve wanted to do from the moment I met him and punch him in the mouth.

He got his precious car back. All he had to do was pay the minimal price we agreed on at the start—and take down all the fake reviews he posted to Audrey’s business. The look on his face when I told him what it would take to get his vehicle back was priceless. That useless weasel went white as a sheet and started stammering. Then his face suddenly got red, then turned purple. I’ve never seen anyone so angry.

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