“You knew enough to plan what you were going to tell me.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“It was exactly like that.
I just watched it.”
She stood abruptly.
Then anger arrived.
“You canceled my flight and stranded me in another country.”
“I canceled a ticket I paid for after discovering you were using our money to vacation with your ex.”
“You humiliated me.”
I stared at her.
That accusation was so astonishing that I almost admired it.
“You hid your posts from me,” I said.
“You let your friends applaud while you called our marriage settling.
Claire ate Thanksgiving dinner at this table, Vanessa.”
Her jaw tightened.
“Those captions weren’t about you.”
“Who were they about?”
She didn’t answer.
I opened my laptop on the coffee table.
The folder was already there.
I showed her the first screenshot.
Then the second.
Then the credit-card records.
Rome hotel.
Boat rental.
Restaurants.
Boutique.
Post after post appeared beside charges made from accounts connected to our household.
Her anger slowly turned into alarm.
“You went through everything?”
“I reviewed our finances.”
“That’s invasive.”
“We’re married.”
She folded her arms.
“So what? You’re going to punish me financially now?”
“No.”
I closed the laptop.
“I’m going to divorce you.”
The words changed the room.
Until that moment, Vanessa had treated our marriage like something elastic.
Something she could stretch almost to breaking and then pull back into shape when she was ready.
She stared at me as if I had violated an agreement I had never made.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I spoke to an attorney the morning after I saw the pictures.”
Her mouth opened.
“You called a lawyer before you even called me?”
“You were busy.”
That landed harder than shouting would have.
She paced toward the dining room and back.
“Ryan, couples survive affairs.”
“I’m sure some do.”
“We have seven years.”
“We had seven years.”
“So that’s it? You’re just throwing me away?”
“No.
I’m ending a marriage you already walked out of.”
