Chapter 3 - The Future She Left Behind

It was past midnight.

Shirley had holed up in her room hours ago with a second helping of cake. Katelyn preferred to drown her sorrows in a hundred-dollar bottle of Nosotros.

Now that she was up to her eyeballs in courage, she set her empty wineglass on the bedroom dresser and picked up the white envelope with her name on it. Almost two decades of marriage had warranted only a single sheet of notepaper—typed, not handwritten.

Katelyn, I’m unhappy.

Why hadn’t Don said something to her before now?

Our marriage hasn’t been good for a long while and since the kids are moving on with their lives, I want to move on, too.

Snapshots of their life together flashed through Katelyn’s mind as she searched for a moment, a conversation or a look, that had hinted at her husband’s unhappiness. His phone call the previous week had been like all the others. . . . How’s Mother? The kids? You? Work is busy. Gotta go.

She couldn’t remember if either one of them had said “I love you” at the end of the conversation. And when was the last time they’d made love? A month ago? Two?

Maybe their marriage wasn’t as warm and fuzzy as other couples’, but what did they have to be unhappy about? Don made more money in a year than they could spend. They had two great kids. And they had their health.

I’ve listed the house with a real estate agent. The For Sale sign goes up tomorrow.

He wasn’t wasting any time.

Take whatever furniture you want, but leave me a few pictures of the kids. Steven will arrange to put what’s left into storage. I paid off the Santa Fe. It’s yours now.

She picked up the wineglass—a gift Don had purchased for her in Belgium a year ago—and hurled it at the fireplace. The glass shattered against the white marble, the shards raining down on the carpet.

I’ll cover the cost of the divorce and the kids’ college tuition. I think you’ll find the settlement more than fair.

What was almost nineteen years of marriage worth?

I leased an apartment for my mother at the Garden Oaks Retirement Estates off of Delmar Blvd. The rent is paid through the end of the year. I’ve arranged for a caretaker to chauffeur her on errands and to doctors’ appointments. This is the best I can do for her until I figure out my living arrangements.

Three years ago a retirement home hadn’t been good enough for his mother, but now that Katelyn wouldn’t be around to babysit the woman, it was suddenly okay to shove her off on someone else? Then again, why did she care? Her mother-in-law wasn’t her problem anymore.

The movers arrive two weeks from Saturday to pack her things. I’d appreciate it if you’d help her get settled into the apartment. I left the contact information for the caregiver service with the leasing agent.

Don wasn’t just dumping Katelyn; he was dumping his mother, too. As much as Shirley got on her nerves, the woman didn’t deserve this coldhearted treatment from her son.

And what about Michael and Melissa? He could have found a better way to spring this divorce on the family. She doubted the twins had a clue that their father was unhappy. Because Don traveled so much, they saw him for only a few days once or twice a month.

I’ll let you break the news to the kids.

Screw that. Don wanted the divorce—he could tell their son and daughter.

And, Katelyn . . . there’s someone else.

What had begun as a one-bottle wine night had become a two-bottle pity party. She set the letter aside, then took the back staircase to the kitchen. She opened the basement door and descended into the wine cellar, where she selected the last bottle of Nosotros, and then used the opener on the bar to remove the cork before returning upstairs.

She paused in her bedroom doorway, her gaze taking in the lavish furnishings. Floor-to-ceiling pillars separated the bed from the sitting area with a fireplace. Slivers of burgundy-colored glass winked at her from beneath the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

The Egyptian linens and the shimmering silver duvet had cost a small fortune, as had the sixty-five-inch mirror mounted above the dresser, which morphed into a TV screen at the flick of a switch. Heated marble flooring and matching countertops greeted her each morning in the bathroom, where the walk-in rain shower was wide enough to accommodate a small crowd. The clothes closet was almost as large as the bedroom.

Katelyn recalled the countless nights during her teen years when she’d sat on the front porch of her childhood home, dreaming of a life like this. A life where she and her husband didn’t have to worry about which bills to pay first because there was enough money to cover them all. A life where she didn’t have to plan weekly meals around supermarket coupons. A life where she had the freedom to come and go without having to wait until her husband arrived home from work with the car. A life where she could buy an object because it was pretty and not because it served a purpose.

When Katelyn had met Don, she’d known he could give her that life. There had been passion in the beginning, when they’d dated—a passion fueled by the excitement of being with someone from a different socioeconomic background. But after they’d had the twins and Don’s career had taken off, the excitement in their relationship had begun to fade.

She entered the closet—the only room in the house that showed she and Don came from vastly different backgrounds. The space contained his-and-her dressers, shoe shelves, floor-to-ceiling mirrors, a marble vanity and a TV mounted on the wall.

Don’s side was filled with bespoke dress shirts, ascot neckties, Armani suits and Stefano Bemer shoes. Her side had J. Crew blouses, American Eagle jeans, Old Navy T-shirts and cargo pants. Her jewelry came from Charming Charlie, except for her wedding ring and the diamond necklace Don had given her on their tenth anniversary.

She walked over to his prized possession—an Italian silk dress shirt he’d paid five hundred dollars for—and poured half the bottle of wine down the front of it. Then she shut the door, grabbed the corner of the duvet as she walked past the bed and dragged the cover outside onto the balcony facing the street.

She tossed the blanket over the chaise lounge still wet from the previous day’s rain, then stretched out and gazed at the shiny specks of light in the sky and sipped the wine.

There’s someone else.

Katelyn squeezed the neck of the bottle, wishing her fingers were pressing against Don’s jugular. Anger pushed the tears from her dry eyes. She’d devoted her married life to taking care of their children and supporting Don’s career as he climbed the corporate ladder, and the past few years she’d put up with his mother. So what if her reasons for marrying him had been rooted in a desire for a better life? Surely all these years of devotion made up for that.

She wrapped the quilt around herself and let her thoughts drift to another man. Jackson Mendoza—her first love. The dark-eyed, dark-haired hometown bad boy from the other side of the tracks had almost derailed her plans to attend college. Jackson had been able to see into her soul . . . feel her passion. Leaving him behind had been one of the scariest things she’d done in her young life. And then during the first semester of her freshman year she’d met Don, a wealthy kid from Kansas City, and suddenly he was her fast train to everything she’d dreamed of having.

As she dozed off, Katelyn realized that when she’d chosen Don, she not only left her best friend and first love behind. . . . She’d also left a part of herself.

* * *

Katelyn pressed the phone against her ear. She’d tried Don’s number three times in the past half hour, but her calls had gone straight to his voice mail.

“Katelyn.”

The sound of his voice startled her and she didn’t immediately respond.

“I assume you’re calling because you received the divorce petition.”

“I did.”

“Any questions you have should go through my lawyer.”

“You couldn’t have told me you were unhappy when you were home last? You waited to spring this on me until you were halfway around the world?”

He cleared his throat—the only indication he was uncomfortable with the conversation. “I’ve got someone else on the other line.”

“I have questions.”

“I’m listening.” The sound of shuffling papers in the background said otherwise.

“I need to know what kind of access I have to our bank accounts.”

“I’ll deposit money into the joint account each month to cover the household bills and any expenses you have.”

“There’s something else.”

“What?”

“I intend to hire my own lawyer, and I’m going to ask him to request that you set up a 401(k) for me and make a monthly deposit into the account,” she said.

“You’re getting half of everything. You’ll have plenty of money to put aside for retirement.”

“I think it’s safe to assume you’ve been plotting this exit from our marriage for a while. I’m sure by now you’ve moved all of our assets someplace where the courts won’t find them.”

Silence.

Now that she had his undivided attention . . . “I intend to be compensated for the role I played in helping you get to where you are at NicorTrune.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I was the one who gave up having a career to stay home, manage our household affairs, raise our children and look after your mother for the past three years so that you were free to focus on your career.”

“I didn’t force you to stay home with the kids.”

Okay, that was true, but . . . “Have you forgotten the dinner party I hosted for your boss and his wife ten years ago? How those little place cards I sketched for the dinner table were such a big hit with Sylvia that she asked me to make them for her social get-togethers?”

Katelyn had never told Don that the boss’s wife had also asked her to sketch party invitations for all her wealthy friends. She’d bent over backward to please Sylvia, because the woman had promised she’d encourage her husband to look favorably upon Don. “After I agreed to help Sylvia, it wasn’t long before you received a promotion to executive vice president.”

“I earned that promotion.”

Don would believe what he wanted. “The least you can do is make sure our kids have enough money to put me away somewhere nice when I’m too old to remember my name.”

“I’ll discuss it with Steven,” he said. “Is there anything else?”

“Do I know her?” Damn. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t ask about the other woman. She didn’t want him believing she cared one way or another about his mistress.

“You don’t know her.” He didn’t elaborate and Katelyn dropped the subject. “I have to go,” he said.

“Since you filed for divorce, you should tell the kids.”

“Fine.”

“When do you plan to call them?”

“I don’t know, Katelyn. I have to go.”

She disconnected the call as Shirley walked into the room. Uh-oh. Her mother-in-law never showed up at the breakfast table without wearing lipstick. “You look like hell.”

“So do you.”

Touché. “Sit down.” Katelyn poured a cup of coffee and set it in front of Shirley. “Bagel or toast?”

“Toast.”

After slathering a piece of wheat bread with butter and strawberry jam for Shirley, Katelyn topped off her own coffee mug, then covertly studied her mother-in-law. She looked every one of her sixty-five years.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” Katelyn said.

“There’s nothing happy about it.” She nodded to Katelyn’s coffee mug. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“I ate earlier.” She’d choked down half a bagel with a glass of water and three aspirin. “I’m sorry Don took you by surprise, too.”

“I doubt you’re that sorry. I know how you feel about me.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Katelyn’s mouth. “Kind of like how you feel about me?”

Shirley’s lips twitched before she sipped her coffee.

There were many things about her mother-in-law that bugged Katelyn, but she grudgingly admired the older woman’s spunk.

“I’m sure if you discuss this with Don, you two can work things out.”

Shirley was old-school. She didn’t believe in divorce—not because she felt it was morally wrong, but because keeping up appearances was more important than a happy marriage.

“I just talked to Don on the phone, and . . .” It was difficult to say out loud. “He’s involved with another woman.”

Shirley’s mug thunked against the table. “I don’t believe it.”

Katelyn retrieved Don’s letter from the kitchen desk.

After Shirley scanned the note, she flung it down and said, “My son is a jackass.”

For once, Shirley was right.

“How dare he cast you aside and stow me away like an antique clock so he can go off and start a new life with his mistress?”

Katelyn had always wanted to find something she and her mother-in-law could bond over—she just never imagined it would be Don’s infidelity.

“If he thinks I’ll disappear without making a scene . . .” Shirley’s mouth trembled. “I changed my son’s poopy diapers longer than most mothers.” She sniffed. “Did he ever tell you he wasn’t potty-trained until he was five and a half years old? I sent him to his first day of kindergarten in a diaper.”

Katelyn smiled when she imagined a little boy wearing a diaper that made his pants bulge in odd places.

“Robert would be angry if he knew our son abandoned me.”

“If you don’t want to live in a retirement apartment, then tell Don you want to move in with him.” Katelyn would have loved to eavesdrop on that conversation.

“Did Don say where he plans to live?” Shirley asked.

“No, but the house goes on the market today.”

“So soon?” Shirley made a rude noise and took her plate to the sink. “We’ll get through this.”

Katelyn resisted laughing at the absurd comment—as if she and her mother-in-law were a team. Shirley was the least of her worries. Katelyn was more concerned about becoming a forty-year-old divorcée who had no idea what she was going to do with herself.