We discussed separation.
Finances.
Housing.
My job.
And what arrangements might be needed for Sophie.
Then Gloria said something I would never forget.
“Madeline, your daughter isn’t something either of you gets to win or lose because of the other person’s behavior.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
“A court’s concern would be her well-being. Not simply who was unfaithful.”
“That’s what I want,” I said.
Gloria studied me.
I continued.
“Elon has been a terrible husband lately. But Sophie loves her father. I don’t want to punish her for what he did to me.”
Gloria nodded.
Then she asked,
“What do you want for yourself?”
I opened my mouth.
But nothing came out.
For months, I’d known exactly what everyone
else needed.
Sophie’s feeding schedule.
Elon’s favorite meals.
The household bills.
The pediatrician’s appointments.
The groceries.
But I hadn’t asked myself what I wanted in a very long time.
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted.
Gloria smiled gently.
“Then don’t make permanent decisions while you’re frightened. Gather information first. Give yourself room to think.”
I carried those words home.
Gather information first.
That night, after Elon went to sleep, I reviewed our credit card statements.
He had always handled the payments.
I’d trusted him enough not to question the details.
But now, I looked closely.
A $187.40 restaurant charge on a Tuesday in July.
I remembered that evening.
Sophie had been eleven days old.
She’d cried for hours while I walked around the living room trying to comfort her.
Elon had claimed he was at a client dinner.
Then another restaurant charge appeared in August.
And another.
There was
also a downtown hotel expense from the weekend he’d supposedly attended a conference in Columbus.
I saved copies.
Then I searched his company’s website.
I clicked on the employee directory.
And there she was.
Sierra Vance — Regional Account Director.
She had dark hair cut into a neat bob.
A bright smile.
A professional photograph.
She’d joined the company the previous spring.
I stared at her picture.
I didn’t hate her appearance.
I didn’t even know her.
What hurt was how effortlessly she seemed to fit into the life I used to have.
She looked rested.
Confident.
Put together.
The woman in the photograph resembled the version of myself I’d barely had time to recognize since Sophie’s birth.
