My husband’s mistress thought she’d steal him from me and take my house too.

He said it like he was wounded.

“I miss you,” he said.

I stared at him and felt anger build behind my teeth.

“I’ve been working,” I said.

“I know,” he sighed.

“But sometimes it feels like you care more about your job than us.” he added.

That was one of his favorite weapons the guilt the implication that if I loved him enough I’d magically be less exhausted.

“You want to know what my job is?” I said voice tight.

“My job is watching people die my job is telling nurses to cover extra units because someone called out with the flu my job is being yelled at because we can’t bend time so yes sometimes I’m tired that doesn’t mean I don’t care about us.” I told him.

He looked away jaw working.

“I’m not saying you don’t care,” he said.

Then he added almost casually.

“If we refinanced maybe you wouldn’t have to work so hard we could use some equity do upgrades take a vacation it would be good for us.” he suggested.

Upgrades that word made my hand tighten around a glass. It slipped cracked and a shard sliced my finger.

Blood welled up and I gasped.

“Oh my god,” he said and for a second his face looked genuinely concerned.

He wrapped my hand in a towel then he spoke quietly.

“Don’t tell your mom she’ll make a big deal.” he said.

That sentence hit me harder than the cut. The casual isolation the way he wanted to control who I spoke to.

I nodded like I agreed because I was beyond pretending to argue. A few days later I told him I’d talked to someone at the bank and they needed paperwork for refinancing and the title.

I said my mother insisted on it because she was helping and wanted everything documented and I deliberately made it sound annoying. I knew he hated my mother’s opinions.

I knew he’d rather sign something than hear her say she didn’t trust him. He rolled his eyes.

“Of course she does,” he said.

“So we just go sign,” I said keeping my voice soft.

“It’s standard we’ll be in and out.” I told him.

The day we went to the lawyer’s office my heart felt like it was trying to escape through my ribs. My husband acted like he owned the room joking with the receptionist complimenting the decor.

He sat down and started flipping through the document and his brows pulled together at phrases like irrevocable waiver.

“What does that mean?” he asked glancing at me like I’d set a trap which yes I had.

The lawyer explained calmly that it confirmed the house was my separate property and that he would be acknowledging he had no claim to it. Then she did the part that mattered the part that would later shut down the I was tricked story.

She slid a second page toward him and said very clearly that she did not represent him. She said that he could take it home that he could have his own lawyer review it and that if he signed anyway he’d be confirming he understood the terms and was signing voluntarily.

She repeated it twice like she’d learned the hard way that people pretend not to hear what they don’t like. There was even a notary in the corner bored as a chaperon ready to stamp whatever our lives had become.

My husband hesitated and for the first time in weeks I saw uncertainty in his face. I leaned in and spoke softly.

“If you don’t trust me don’t sign it’s fine we’ll drop the refinancing I’ll tell my mom it won’t work no big deal.” I said.

I watched his pride flare. He hated the idea of my mother thinking he was weak.

He hated the idea of me thinking he didn’t understand. He straightened his shoulders and signed.

The pen scratched across paper and it sounded like a door closing. In the car afterward he was unusually quiet.

I kept my eyes on the road because if I looked at him I might start shaking from adrenaline.

“You good?” I asked because apparently I enjoy pain.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Just a lot of paperwork.” he added.

“A lot,” I agreed voice steady.

Inside my brain was screaming “You just signed away your fantasy because you couldn’t stand looking cautious.”. That night alone in the bathroom I stared at myself in the mirror and whispered “Okay.”.

Like I was trying to convince myself I was still real. Betrayal is isolating in a way people don’t understand until they live it.

It makes you question your instincts your memory your sanity. It makes you wonder if you’re overreacting even when you’re staring at a photo.

So I did the only thing that felt safe. I pulled other people into the truth on purpose so he couldn’t keep the story in a private room.

I planned a Sunday lunch at my parents’ house and invited both families mine his and the woman’s parents. I framed it as an important announcement about the future.

My husband got excited in that greedy way of his. He thought it was about the house.

He thought he was winning. My best friend came early with a little device that let her mirror her phone to the television.

We tested it twice. I also printed a handful of screenshots because I didn’t trust technology not to choose violence at the worst moment.

Yes I know the irony is embarrassing. When everyone arrived the atmosphere was normal in that family gathering way fake smiles small talk comments about food.

The woman showed up in a bright dress and acted like she belonged. My mother hugged her like she was a niece.

I wanted to crawl out of my skin. We ate plates clinked someone joked about the weather.

My husband kept touching my knee under the table like he was performing husband of the year. After lunch I stood up and cleared my throat.

My voice sounded too loud in the living room.

“I wanted everyone here,” I began.

My husband cut in laughing.

“Oh my god is this about her again?” he said gestured toward the woman like she was a harmless prop.

“You’ve been obsessed since you were kids.” he said.

My cheeks burned. The woman smiled like she was enjoying a show.

My mother-in-law’s face tightened ready to defend her son.

“You should be embarrassed,” My mother-in-law snapped.

“Accusing my son in front of everyone.” she said.

For a second I wanted to run. For a second I wanted to scream.

Instead my best friend stood up beside me calm as a nurse in a crisis and mirrored the screen. The first screenshot popped up on the television my husband calling me an obstacle.

Then another him talking about getting on the title. Then the message about selling the house for our new beginning.