Chapter 2: Gossip, Grief, and Deletions

"Do you think she’ll get a divorce? Wouldn’t that just let that jerk off easy?" The debate raged on. Everyone weighing in, like my life was some reality show poll.

I closed the group chat and stopped reading their gossip. Couldn’t take it. I muted the notifications, tossed my phone across the bed. For the first time in years, I felt truly alone.

I opened my Instagram and deleted every post about Jackson, one by one. Every vacation, every anniversary, every smiling selfie. It was like erasing a whole chapter of my life. But I had to do it. No more reminders of the lie I’d been living.

I used to be the perfect woman: successful career, loving husband—handsome, rich, gentle, considerate. People envied me at work and in life. I was the one everyone pointed to as proof you could have it all. Now? Just another cautionary tale.

Even when I went back to my hometown, relatives crowded around me, gushing about my good fortune—my grades, my college, my job, my husband. If I had a kid soon, it’d be even better. They’d always held me up as the golden girl. The one who made all the right choices.

They all said I had good judgment, that I didn’t look down on a poor guy, that I knew how to invest in a promising man, and step by step helped my husband get where he is today. Their words echoed in my head now. Bitter. Hollow.

He started his own company and became the high-and-mighty CEO Carter. People treated him like royalty, like he’d always been that guy. It was like he’d rewritten his own history, and I’d been erased from the story.

He probably really did forget all the hardship and poverty from back then, when he had no money in his pocket but still wanted to buy me a birthday gift. I remembered those days so clearly—the ramen dinners, the way we’d laugh about being broke, the dreams we built together. Now, it all felt like a lie.

Three days later, I got a call from Jackson’s lawyer. She was all business, her tone cool and professional, like this was just another Tuesday. I almost laughed at how clinical it all sounded.

The property was to be split fifty-fifty. Looked fair on paper. But the details told a different story.

Except for the current house and the company. Those were off the table, apparently. My blood boiled as she rattled off the terms.

The house we live in? Bought by me, so he wasn’t splitting that. The company’s startup fund—$400,000—came from my parents, and he’d pay it back with interest, so I couldn’t split the company either. He’d found a way to keep the best of everything, just like always.

He thought this was very fair. Of course he did. So fair. For him.

"I won’t sign. If he walks away with nothing, I’ll sign immediately." I said it flat, my voice steady, but my insides were shaking. I knew I was making things hard, but I didn’t care. Not anymore.

"Look, Ms. Carter, you know the law doesn’t support leaving with nothing. As a woman myself, I sympathize and understand. Right now, Mr. Carter feels guilty and is willing to give you half. Once his guilt fades, you might not get so much. If you divorce early, you can start over sooner. Why waste your time?" The lawyer’s words were smooth, practiced. I bet she’d said the same thing to dozens of women before me.

I chuckled. "He hasn’t even divorced and already started a new life. He can do it, but I can’t? If he leaves with nothing, I’ll divorce!" The irony was almost too much. I was supposed to be the bigger person, to move on gracefully, while he got to start over without a scratch.

The lawyer sneered and stood up, gathering her papers. She shot me a look, like she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

I went back to work. My boss already knew about my situation and offered me a month off. She even brought me coffee, told me to take care of myself. It was kind.

But I didn’t need it. I needed the distraction, the routine. Work was the one place I could pretend everything was normal.

You have to keep either your marriage or your job, people say. Since my marriage was over, I threw myself into work. I took on extra projects, volunteered for late meetings—anything to keep my mind busy.

I showed up every day like nothing had happened. No one could tell what kind of misery and humiliation I’d suffered in my marriage. I wore my best suits, kept my makeup flawless, and smiled through it all. If anyone noticed the cracks, they pretended not to.

My colleagues all thought I’d swallow my pride and coexist with the mistress. Because this kind of thing is so common, especially now that my husband is rich. If I got divorced, wouldn’t I just be letting that jerk and his mistress off easy? The logic made my head spin.

Some senior colleagues even gave me marriage advice. They cornered me in the break room, voices low, acting like they were sharing ancient secrets.

"Savannah, any smart woman should learn to give in to her husband. Especially when he’s rich and successful—there are so many women out there eyeing him. You need to bow your head at the right time, turn a blind eye, and your whole life will pass smoothly." Their words were meant to comfort, but they just made me feel small.

"That woman on the side—why is he so obsessed with her? Isn’t it because she knows how to act weak and give in? You, don’t always focus on your career. You should ask CEO Carter for a child." The advice kept coming, unasked for and unwelcome.

"Your child would be the legitimate one. The other is just an illegitimate child!" The way they said it, like it was some kind of competition, made me sick.

I really couldn’t understand their idea of marriage. After finding out their husband cheated, they’re in a rush to have a kid with him to secure their spot as the main wife. It felt backwards, like something out of another era.

Even my parents advised me like this, saying Jackson isn’t the same as before—not that poor kid anymore. They meant well, but their advice felt like a punch to the gut.