As Sandra slept in, I packed their lunches with notes telling them how much I loved them. I drove them to school myself, hugging them a little longer than usual at drop-off. When I returned home, Sandra was up, scrolling through her phone at the kitchen counter. "Happy anniversary," I said, placing a small wrapped box in front of her.
She looked surprised, then guilty. "Oh, happy anniversary. I'm sorry. With everything going on, I didn't get a chance to get you anything."
"That's okay," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "Open it." Inside the box was a USB drive with a simple label: While I Slept Down the Hall. She looked confused.
"What's this?" "Our marriage, as it really is," I said. "You might want to watch it before our meeting this afternoon." "What meeting?"
"With Barbara Winters, my attorney. She's expecting us at 2:00." The color drained from Sandra's face. "Your attorney? David, what are you talking about?"
I placed another envelope on the counter. "Divorce papers and a motion for full custody of Emma and Tyler." She stared at me, shock replacing confusion. "This isn't funny."
"It's not meant to be," I said, my voice still calm. "Neither was sleeping with Mark in our guest room while I was recovering from surgery. Neither was calling me a vegetable to your friends. Neither was using our joint account to fund hotel rooms for your affair."
"You... you've been spying on me." Her voice rose with indignation. "I've been protecting myself," I corrected her. "There's a difference."
"This is insane," she sputtered. "You can't just decide to end our marriage like this." "I didn't decide to end our marriage," I said, finally allowing a hint of anger to color my words. "You did that when you brought another man into our home while I was at my most vulnerable."
"You did that when you mocked me to your friends. You did that when you betrayed every promise you ever made to me." She tried to argue, to justify, to minimize what she'd done. When that didn't work, she moved to tears, to pleas for another chance, to reminders of our history together.
I listened without response, watching the performance with detached interest. "The meeting is at two," I repeated when she finally ran out of words. "You can bring the USB drive with you if you want to see what evidence will be presented in court, or don't. Either way, I'll be there."