“Yesterday.”
I took a breath.
“What did she want?”
He hesitated.
“She asked to meet.”
I stared at the wall.
“Did you?”
“No.”
I exhaled slowly.
“Okay.”
He continued.
“She said Matthew has decided to proceed with the divorce.”
My chest tightened.
“And?”
“She wanted to know whether I still thought about us.”
There was a long silence.
Then I asked, “What did you say?”
Brandon swallowed.
“I told her I was trying to save my marriage.”
I nodded.
“That was the right answer.”
He sounded relieved.
Then he added, “She said she understood.”
I waited.
But something about his tone bothered me.
“Brandon, why are you telling me this now?”
He hesitated.
“Because I didn’t want another secret.”
I appreciated that.
I genuinely did.
But after we ended the call, I sat alone thinking about what he’d said.
Jessica was becoming available.
The fantasy he’d once explored was no longer entirely impossible.
And now he was telling me he’d chosen our marriage.
For months, I’d imagined that would be the proof I needed.
Instead, I realized something painful.
I no longer wanted a husband who had to repeatedly decide whether another woman was worth leaving me for.
I wanted a relationship where my presence wasn’t constantly being measured against an alternative.
That evening, I walked through our house.
I looked at the family photographs.
The furniture we’d chosen together.
The little imperfections we’d laughed about during renovations.
I remembered holidays, birthdays, and ordinary evenings.
There had been real happiness.
I wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.
But there had also been a betrayal that changed my understanding of the person beside me.
I sat at the dining table.
Then I opened my laptop and began researching what separation might mean legally and financially.
The following week, I scheduled a consultation with a family-law attorney in Columbus.
Her name was Caroline Shaw.
She listened carefully as I explained what had happened.
We discussed our shared property, retirement accounts, household finances, and the practical steps involved if I chose divorce.
Caroline didn’t tell me what to do.
She simply helped me understand my options.
When I left her office, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in months.
Clarity.
Not happiness.
Not relief.
But the sense that I was finally making decisions based on what I needed rather than waiting for Brandon to decide what he wanted.
That evening, I called Rebecca.
She answered immediately.
“Hey, Lauren.”
I took a breath.
“I think I’m ready.”
She was quiet.
“For what?”
“To end the marriage.”
There was a long pause.
Then she asked, “Are you sure?”
I looked toward the window.
“No.”
My voice shook.
“But I think I’m sure enough to stop waiting for certainty that may never come.”
Rebecca sighed softly.
“I understand.”
I began crying.
She didn’t try to talk me out of it.
She didn’t celebrate.
She simply listened while I explained why I couldn’t imagine trusting Brandon again.
When I finished, she said something that stayed with me.
“Lauren, you don’t have to prove someone is incapable of changing before you’re allowed to decide you can’t continue.”
I closed my eyes.
That was exactly what I needed to hear.
Brandon might change.
He might become more honest.
He might never contact Jessica again.
He might spend the rest of his life regretting what happened.
But none of those possibilities required me to remain married.
The following Saturday, I invited him to the house.
He arrived carrying flowers.
I almost cried when I saw them.
He smiled nervously.
“Your favorites.”
I took them.
“Thank you.”
We sat in the living room.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then I told him.
“I’ve decided to pursue a divorce.”
His face went completely still.
For a moment, he looked as though he hadn’t understood.
Then he whispered, “No.”
My eyes filled.
“Brandon.”
He shook his head.
“Lauren, please.”
I took a breath.
“I’ve thought about this for months.”
His eyes filled.
“We’re making progress.”
I nodded.
“We are.”
“Then why?”
I looked down.
“Because progress doesn’t guarantee I can rebuild trust.”
He stared at me.
I continued.
“I believe you’re beginning to understand what you did.”
My voice shook.
“And I hope you continue that work.”
He started crying.
“But I don’t want to spend the next several years trying to convince myself that I’m no longer being compared to Jessica.”
He shook his head.
“I chose you.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks.
“Eventually.”
He froze.
I continued.
“You chose me after exploring whether you wanted her.”
He closed his eyes.
“And after both your spouses found out.”
For several seconds, he couldn’t speak.
Then he whispered, “I know.”
I looked toward our wedding photograph, still tucked inside the drawer beneath the television.
“We had nine years, Brandon.”
He nodded.
“Some wonderful years.”
He started crying harder.
“And I’m grateful for those memories.”
I took a breath.
“But I can’t build another nine years on a promise I’m afraid to trust.”
He covered his face.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then he looked up.
“Do you still love me?”
I considered the question.
“Yes.”
Hope flashed across his face.
Then I continued.
“But I don’t think love is enough for me to remain married.”
His expression collapsed.
I began crying.
For several minutes, we sat together in the grief of a decision neither of us had imagined making when we exchanged vows.
Eventually, Brandon stood.
He looked toward the doorway.
Then back at me.
“I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t enough.”
My throat tightened.
I shook my head.
“I know now that I was enough.”
He nodded through tears.
“The problem was that you wanted to feel wanted by someone else, and you didn’t care enough about what that did to me.”
He looked down.
Then he whispered, “You’re right.”
For the first time, hearing him agree didn’t make me feel better.
It simply confirmed what I’d already decided.
He left quietly.
